Calamity
by BamItsTyler
Summary: "YOU might call it calamity, but I see it as opportunity – an opportunity I plan to take full advantage of." It's the year of the 98th Hunger Games. Tragedy strikes leaving Panem's Vice President, Viondra DeWynter, to stabilize the nation. The office of The President of Panem vacates rarely...leaving the notion of 'stability' mute. Can Viondra do it? – SYOT prologue.
1. A Day Like Any Other

**_One: A Day Like Any Other_**

* * *

 ** _Amelia Hawke, 23| Praetorian Guard Agent, Presidential Detail._**

 ** _October 30th, 2161 (98th HG)_**

 ** _District 1_**

* * *

 _"And that was uhh… "Monster Mash" by a Mr. Bobby Pickett – an oldie from way back when! Good afternoon District One, welcome back. It's me, your fabulous host Gemma Rankin, kickin' it in the PBC-1120 studio right here in Downtown Helena!_

 _It appears we're in for an action packed day, or should I say **week**! The big man himself, President Kane is paying District One a visit as he begins a tour of the nation! With schools being let out mid-day throughout the city, crowds are expected to line the parade route in the hundreds! Following a speech at the Justice Building and a tour of LaGuardia Academy, the president and his wife are to host a function at their family retreat a little ways north in the vineyard country just in time for Halloween tomorrow!_

 _For those of you who hate Mondays, I'm sure this specific one could serve as* **quite** * the exception!"_

"Agent Hawke?" calls the voice of Mrs. Cruella Kane through the train door, "Do you mind coming inside for a moment? Another woman's opinion is very much needed!"

Muting the radio on my communicuff, I pivot on my heels and enter the private compartment of Panem's First Lady. Upon seeing me the older woman rises from off her seat, turning around slowly as she showcases her ensemble. Her dress was coloured _peacekeeper-white_ with a tint of pink, alongside her beret that sat on top of her head. It contrasted well with her brown, grey-streaked hair that was styled in a neat bun. For a woman of seventy years, she took care of herself well.

"Well Agent Hawke," Mrs. Kane inquires with a smirk on her lips and an eyebrow quirked, "Does it look nice? I would've gone for a more festive orange given the season, but District One citizens tend to dress brightly, so I figured this'll do nicely."

With my hands clasped in front of me, I offer a single nod. If she was looking to catch a few eyeballs, she most definitely would. "You look _perfect_ as per usual, Mrs. Kane. You'll be the subject of all the couture magazines I assure you."

She places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I'll take your word on that."

A beep from my communicuff prompts me to glance down at the wrist gauntlet. "This is Agent Hawke?"

" _Amelia, it's Tiberius_ ," Responds a gruff voice on the other end. " _We're coming up on Orchid Edenthew, ETA thirty minutes. Is Exciter_ ready to go?"

A tradition that goes way back when even _before_ Panem was formed, those who were in charge of the President's safety among other very important persons were given a codename. Unassuming and ambiguous, the protected person and their families' codename start the same letter. _Exciter_ is the special codename we use for Mrs. Kane, _Elder_ for President Kane. For a Victor, their codename would be a 'V' then the number of their Games.

Glancing up from the gauntlet, I watch as Mrs. Kane mumbles something along the lines of _'Just need to get my purse…',_ "Affirmative, Exciter is ready to go. Are Oracle and Elder down there?"

 _"They're currently finalizing the rundown of today's events."_ The head agent in charge replies _. "We'll meet you at the lead car."_

"Copy, see you there."

After securing her matching white gloves and clutch, Mrs. Kane was ready to go. Supported by fellow agents, we make our way from the sleeping car all the way to the first car just before the locomotive. The car was empty, save for the agents and aides wandering about. The president is probably still going over the itinerary with his aides, so I escort Mrs. Kane to a nearby chair.

"Hey Amelia," calls a fellow Agent. I turn to see that it's just Odysseus, placing a PiPad in my hands. "Get a load of this. Apparently some peacekeepers and our guys at the local field office found a bunch of these stapled up throughout town."

On the PiPad screen was a photo of President Kane. Below his head were a series of less than flattering statements about the man.

 ** _AGESILAUS KANE_**

 _' **SEDITIOUS TRAITOR:** THIS MAN is the most treasonous president to have ever taken office. He has failed to uphold the Treaty of Treason (which he swore to uphold)'…_

I can't help but let out a slight ' _hmph'_ at the pamphlet. It's interesting how they protest against the things that _help them._

"I expect stuff like this to be from a District like Two…" I muse, giving the image another look over while scrunching my nose in confusion. "This pamphlet is so fervent, not something you find a lot of in One."

"I'd imagine District Two would be marginally _worse_ , no?" replies Odysseus. "I wonder how they'll go about life without the Hunger Games dominating every aspect of it. Luckily we're going from the highest district to the lowest, better to get the angry Careers out of the way…"

I jostle my head, giving a non-committal grunt. It isn't all _that_ bad. After President Snow's death following the Second Rebellion, there was an acting president for two years or so before President Kane took over. I wasn't old enough to live under Snow, but when I was attending District Two's academy many of the people old enough to have lived through the era credit Kane for modernizing the country.

More and more people owned autos, standard housing, disposable income…Apparently, he was transparent and caring where Snow was a _'micromanager'_ and ' _totalitarian'._ Somehow Kane managed to reform the constitution to allow free elections – District-born senators, judges _and_ representatives. This is all supposedly taking place after the year of the 100th Hunger Games…which is why we're touring the Districts, to explain and drum up support for Panem's ' _new era'_ \- as President Kane calls it. Although…As this 'new era' is being ushered in, the Hunger Games are to be done away with _._

Not everyone is happy with the change, being most of the Capitol, District One, Two and to an extent, Snow Island and Four.

From what I know, District One's academy would continue focusing on the arts while District Two's military academy would continue pumping out peacekeepers. As for me, a hundred years of punishment seems like enough. Like what President Kane said when he announced the decision, 'One _hundred years of penance is more than enough guilt to bear'._ With the majority on his side, is anyone willing to risk another rebellion of sorts?

I hand the tablet back to Odysseus, content that everyone will settle down sooner or later. _Besides_ , with the Games affecting two people from those districts each year, that's what the _majority_ of them move on to do _anyway_ – be actors, models, stylists, or peacekeepers in the case of District Two.

Within minutes, gone were the open plains in place for residential houses and buildings. People lining the route to get a glimpse of the presidential train grew thicker and thicker as we arrived. Audible cheers, albeit muffled, could be heard as clear as day as the train screeched to a halt within the station – named after the District's first victor, _Orchid Edenthew._ Within seconds, President Kane made his way into the car with Tiberius and other agents in tow.

"Ready, dearest?" I hear Mrs. Kane say as she entwines her hand with the president's. He replies with his signature _'Ready as I'll ever be…'_ as I divert my attention to my communicuff, syncing it with my earpiece as the other agents do the same.

" _Alright agents,"_ begins Tiberius _, "The platform will be clear but when we enter the station towards the street keep it tight."_

This is where _we_ come in.

 _The Praetorian Guard,_ Capitol agents assigned to protect government officials and other VIP's such as tributes, mentors, escorts and victors. Like the Peacekeepers and their white uniforms, the Guard is known for our rather _fashionable_ black leather tunics.

With that being said, the train doors open with a slight hiss, the cheers from outside flooding into the train as we disembark onto the platform and quickly make our way into the train station. As the grand entrance doors are held open by saluting peacekeepers, the other agents and I escort the president and his wife towards the welcoming party. If the crowd wasn't fervent when the train first rolled in, I'm not quite sure how to describe them _now_.

Split two ways behind velvet ropes and a red carpet leading towards the motorcade, the crowd becomes absolutely unhinged at the sight of President Kane and Mrs. Kane. **_'WELCOME TO D1!', 'GO KANE GO!',_** **_'PRESIDENT KANE FOR 2162!'_** were just some of the many signs the spectators waved to and fro. Snow…One of them even held drawn _portraits_ of the duo – drawn by themselves perhaps. The president and his wife were more than happy to veer off to the side, greeting and shaking the hands of their adoring public.

It was a _good_ day today. The sun was _bright_ , the breeze was _cool_ and the _people_ were just as pleasant. However, guarding the president, his wife and some victors can't be placed on the backburner regardless. We're in a _district_ after all. And as per that poster about the president, rabble-rousers reside _everywhere_.

" _Eyes on the crowd, ladies and gents…"_ Tiberius says over the earpiece. _"Agent Hawke, you take passenger on the Stagecoach. I'll take the Spare for today."_

Through the tint of my sunglasses, my eyes scan the crowd for any possible threat to our leader's safety. Having frequented District 1 on numerous occasions the region was best described as a miniature Capitol, having little to no political grievances or animosities. My point is proven when Mrs. Kane is presented with a small bouquet of roses from an admirer.

"Welcome to District One, Mr. President, Mrs. Kane!" greets Governor Westenfluss, a Victor-slash-politician. With her stand a number of local officials and fellow Victors, some of which I _instantly_ recognize such as Kaiser Von Neumann and Zenira Inchcape. The Kane's, being their usual warm selves quickly enveloped the hand of the Sixty-Sixth Victor and those beside her.

"Thank you Serene, for the warm welcome. It seems we got a good program today!" says President Kane.

"Oh yes, most of the students are _very_ excited for your tour of LaGuardia today." She replies with an incline of the head.

"We can't wait, it's a _shame_ we don't venture out here often. Regardless, it makes for quite the adventure!" Mrs. Kane chimes, linking elbows with her husband as I guide them over to the parade car.

The Presidential Parade Car, code named ' _Stagecoach'_ , was a top-of-the-line _2155 PMC Ambassador_ limousine.* From the front bumper to the back, the automobile was an absolutely beauty, painted black and draped with the Panem banner and the seal of the District he was visiting. Due to President Kane's love for the people, he requested that his car be a convertible so he could interact with the crowds more. So instead of the hardtop, the car was fitted with a bubbletop which is currently _off._ With a luxurious cream interior containing all the frills of a luxury limousine, there were handle bars and a bulletproof screen just before the driver's seat for the president to hold on to.

At any given time in presidential motorcade, there are usually _two_ of these parade cars in use. The first is the ' _Spare'_ , a secondary limousine just in case as well as for decoy purposes and the ' _Stagecoach'_ , the limousine in use for the president. Usually, especially in the outer Districts, the procession was fitted with many heavy-duty automobiles. Being that this is District One; the motorcade was adjusted as if we were in the Capitol – fifteen autos, _one_ of which is a Peacekeeper SJ-7 Assault Transport fitted with Gatling guns because you _never_ _know_ when a situation may get terse.

"So you're my passenger for today?" The driver asks as I slip onto the seat beside him. He's younger, most likely older than I.

"Indeed I am," I reply, extending my hand towards him. "Amelia. Amelia Hawke. And you are?"

"Augustus Philips." He says, pumping my hand. "I'm a recent transfer from the Chief Magistrate's detail. I was her _driver_."

I smile. "It's a _pleasure_ to meet you, Augustus." Through the rear-view mirror I watch as the president and his wife alongside Governor Westenfluss get comfortable. "Are you OK back there, sir?"

This earns thumbs up from the president in response. "Thank you, Agent Hawke. I'm more than comfortable."

With a nod from myself, I ease into my seat, craning my head back as the aides, local officials and press are herded into their assigned automobile. It doesn't take long for Tiberius to make his presence known once again.

 _"Alright pilot, you can move out now."_ He says, as the lead peacekeeper cruiser and its squad of motorcycles pushes off to begin clearing the route. Slowly but surely, we begin our procession towards District One's central city. From the station we were directed onto the highway, as taking the main roads to the city would prove impractical for a procession so large.

Even though we were on the outskirts of town, those whose houses lined the highway took the time to hop their fences and watch the motorcade go by. The crowds consisted of fathers with their sons or daughters over their shoulders, people in lounge chairs waving Panemian flags while others captured the affair with their cameras. And _of course_ a couple of local Careers, identified by their leather jackets, bandannas and greased-up hairdos , turn their backs toward the president as a sign of apparent protest.

…They'll get over it.

A cool gentle breeze envelops my face as I drape my arm over the door with a sigh. Regardless, _it was a good day for a motorcade._ "Driver, do you mind slowing things down a little?" says President Kane whilst scooting over towards us. "Cruella and I are going to greet our _adoring public_."

" _Absolutely_ sir, bear with me for one moment." Replies Augustus as he decelerates the vehicle. As President Kane and his wife take their place standing up, two additional agents hop onto the runner boards on the rear of the car. The limousine begins to accelerate, but _stops_ abruptly. As I glance toward Augustus, I watch as he fumbles with his earpiece. As if he was trying to listen to something. I adjust mine, but hear nothing from Tiberius. Craning my head, I turn towards the two Agents assigned to the rear of Stagecoach. Odysseus and his partner shrug in confusion as they retreat back to the sides of the SJ-7. President Kane and his wife are unaware, waving to either side of the highway as Governor Westenfluss does the same.

"What's going on Philips?" I inquire as the limousine begins to accelerate once more.

"Tiberius wanted Anderson and Odysseus to stand down. Something about _'maximum visibility'_ as we reach the centre of town." He says as I shrug, continuing to keep my eyes peeled as the motorcade progressed down the road. The Kane's weren't fans of security constantly hovering over them…it made sense to call them off.

And as we began to approach the city centre, the skyline could be seen as clear as day. Being a lover of history myself, 'Helena' used to be such a _quaint_ city if one looked back at the archival photos. What was once a small town before Panem was now pristine city that rivaled the Capitol. On either side of the highway were a cluster of condominiums and buildings that varied in shape, size and colour. Right in the middle of it all was the Prospect Avenue Overpass – eager citizens lined up across it with a giant **_'WELCOME TO DISTRICT ONE, MR. PRESIDENT & MRS. KANE!'_** splayed across for him to see. Spectators filled the promenade and their balconies on both sides, confetti raining down onto the road as they attempted to gain the attention of their leader. Turning around, I see that the president and his wife were glowing with happiness at the display – grinning from ear to ear.

"What a _lovely_ welcome." He says warmly.

"You haven't seen _anything_ yet, Mr. President." replies Governor Westenfluss.

As I turn my head towards the windshield, a loud crack could be heard as my face is splattered with a copper-tasting liquid. Only until I discard my sunglasses do I see my hands doused with _blood_. Before I could recover, I find my body lurching forward, the audible sound of the limousine's engines abruptly roaring to life could be heard as clear as day. As I turn to my left, I look on in shock as Augustus slumps against the wheel – the back of his head ... _blown open_. The windshield was literally _plastered_ with blood and gore. Before I know it, my head slams against the dashboard as the driverless limousine collides against a median. The gasps and shrieks of the crowd are heard as clear as day.

 _"CORIOLANUS C. SNOW!"_

 _"SWEET PANEM!"_

 _"OH MY GODS!"_

With my vision swimming and my nose oozing blood, I duck as loud hammering assaults my eardrums. Like construction on a warm day, the noise was akin to a hammer striking a nail in rapid succession. _Gunfire._ As a cacophony of cries and shrieks fill my ears, I manage to reconnect my earpiece.

 _"-Elder has been shot, I repeat Elder is down!"_

"The president…!?" I splutter, whipping my head back towards the rear cabin. Everything was splashed with _red_ – an eerie contrast with the once _cream_ interior. Governor Westenfluss lays slumped against the left hand side of the limousine while First Lady Kane lays over her husband, howling with anguish. I couldn't see the man, but the deep red that painted the once _pinkish-white_ of Mrs. Kane's suit stated enough about his possible condition.

My fellow agents and peacekeepers are quick to act. The SJ-7 peppers the surrounding buildings with turret fire as agents on the runner boards and peacekeepers on their motorcycles disembark, plasma bolts firing in every conceivable direction as they offer suppressive fire. The scenes around me are best described as pandemonium, civilians cowering in fear and running in every direction to escape the shootout.

As the other agents provide covering fire, a followup car screeches to a halt beside the besieged limousine - a squad of agents disembark and quickly mount the limousine to shield the bodies of the occupants. Odysseus slips in from the passenger side, prompting me to unceremoniously move Augustus' body to the middle of bench seat as I scramble over his lap towards the driver's side. As I clutch the steering wheel, I find myself frozen with awe, as the wheel and the console were _coated_ with blood, bone and flesh, seeping between the spaces of my fingers and dripping onto the floorboards.

Plasma rifle in hand, Odysseus violently jostles my shoulder prompting me to snap out of my trance. "To District 1 Civic, I'll mark it on the GPS, GO GO!"

He doesn't need to tell me twice. Even though the front grille was _destroyed,_ the limousine was built to last. As I shift the gear, Odysseus and I lurch backward as the car zooms in reverse. Flanked by two SUV's I mash my heel against the accelerator as we streak down the highway – our sirens blaring all the way.


	2. Our Last Hope, Gone

_**Two: Our Last Hope, Gone.**_

* * *

 **Dr. Heathcliff Zhao, 30  
Attending Physician, M.D  
District 1 Civic Hospital**

* * *

 _Why do the birds go on singing?  
Why do the stars glow above?  
Don't they know it's the end of the world  
It ended when I lost your love_

I _wake up in the morning and I wonder  
_ _Why everything's the same as it was  
_ _I can't understand, no, I can't understand  
_ _How life goes on the way it does…_

" _Gee Doc…_ as much as I love Doris McKenzie, can you turn that radio down?! At this point, all she's doing is _rubbing it in_."

With a shrug and a soft chuckle, I turn down Doris McKenzie's cover of _' **The End of the World'**.* _The song _was_ kind of ironic, given the young man's current predicament. I turn back towards the downtrodden teenager, continuing to attend to the final touches of his cast.

Laurent Robinson is back in _again_ with a fractured fibula after a misadventure at LaGuardia's obstacle course. Throughout your tenure at the Career Academy, sustaining an injury is a common occurrence. Albeit a _moderate_ injury, the mandatory 'cool-down' time is sure to make him fall out of favor for the male tribute spot next year. His sadness shows – and that of his mother, as the young man scowls at the cast that covers his left leg while mom looks on with concern.

"Well, you're all done!" I say proudly, fastening the last binds of Laurent's cast.

"Well, Dr. Zhao?" she purrs, batting her eyes. "What's my boy's prognosis?"

"Well Mrs. Robinson, Laurent will be off his feet for a month or so…After the cast is off, it'll take a week or two of physio to get him back in working order."

The young man groans with disappointment. "Aww man, this _blows_! I'm gonna lose my spot _for sure_!"

Clapping his back, I hand him a pair of crutches. Begrudgingly, he accepts them and hobbles off the operating table onto his good leg. "Cheer up Mr. Robinson," I chide, tapping his shoulder. "If you don't make the cut this year, the Peacekeepers are always looking for exceptional young men like yourself. There's a lot of money to be made in the Expeditionary Force. Remember China and Australia a couple year's back?"

"That's right darling," croons Mrs. Robinson. "Remember your Aunt Glamoure is Head Peacekeeper of the Navies…I'm sure she could put in a good word for you."

"Yeah…I _guess_. It'd be pretty swell to see what's left of the world." He replies with a sigh, turning away to hobble towards the exit. "Thanks a bunch Mr. Z, I 'preciate it."

Mrs. Robinson turns to me now, tracing a gloved finger over my chest as she gently taps it once. " _Thank you,_ Doctor Zhao…"

"No need to thank me, Mrs. Robinson! I'm just doing my job." I reply, stifling my blush. Just as she turns around to follow after her son, the hospitals alarm begins to sound. Even the pager on my belt vibrates.

" _This is a Code Orange alert, I repeat, this is a Code Orange alert! Dr. Zhao, Dr. Rambin, Dr. Ingber, Dr .Markowitz, to the trauma wing STAT!"_

Offering my apologies to Mrs. Robinson I dart out of the room and zip down the hallway. It seems Resident Dior Ingber has the same idea as well, as I watch my colleague fervently apologize to an elderly patient before joining me by my side while we blitz down the hallway. The building is awash in a bright red light as the alarms continue to wail. Though it all, _peacekeeper_ sirens could be heard from outside.

"What's going on Dior?" I pant, skidding against a banister as we round a corner and zip down the stairs. The woman wheezes, adjusting her glasses while clinging to my forearm for support. "I don't know! Code Orange has something to do with a major incident, right!?"

I nod, slowing to a speed walk as we reach the Emergency Wing doors. _Code Orange_ meant that the hospital was about to receive victims of a mass causality – factory explosions…mining accidents, things of that nature. To my knowledge, never since the _Second Rebellion_ have we ever had a Code Orange called.

Well, until _today_ that is.

 _"In Helena, District 1, multiple shots were fired-_ " the holovision blares as I zip on by the reception hall. I pay it no mind.

Barging our way through the glass sliding doors, it seems that Doctor's Prada Rambin and Hollister Markowitz have already made it outside. With staff watching on in confusion from behind the glass windows, I exchange terse nods with my colleagues and watch on with intrigue and confusion as a procession of cars zoom into the lot and towards the curl-de-sac.

Only until I see the flags on the hood of the limousine do I realize who our potentials victims were.

"Hollister, Prada…." I mumble, tapping their shoulders absentlmindedly as my eyes remain glued on the cars. "You might want to get a stretcher or two. Get the orderlies to help you." Pivoting on their heels, they heed my order, scrambling back into the hospital as the procession screeches to a halt just a few feet away from Dior and me.

What follows is nothing short of calamity.

The hospital entrance was awash with yells and cries as Peacekeepers flung their motorcycles onto the ground, securing the front entrance. Toting intimidating rifles and shotguns, men and women dressed in black tunics begin to disembark from their cars – some either taking up a defensive position with the peacekeepers or herding people with business suits into the hospital.

 _Nothing_ could prepare me for the scene inside the lead limousine.

"We need stretchers!"

"GO, GO, GO!"

"Mrs. Kane, is he alright? Cruella talk to me, _please-"_

"I'm OK, I'm OK! I just got hit in the shoulder…go check on the presiden-"

" _Oh Snow, oh Snow, oh Snow…!"_

The car, its front mashed in, was splattered with blood and gore. The front windshield was best described as a 'bloody web' – presumably the product of a bullet piecing the glass. In the front in the driver's cabin was a deceased man, judging by his uniform one of the agents, with a bullet wound in his forehead. In the gore-plastered passenger cabin, surrounded by consoling guards was First Lady Kane and Governor Westenfluss. Wounded in the arm and shoulder, Ms. Westenfluss wasted no time clambering out the limousine as she was hustled indoors by guards and hospital staff. Mrs. Kane appeared to be harder to coax, as she continued to cling to a body that appeared to be the _president._

 _"LEAVE US ALONE!"_ she wails, rocking back and forth as sobs wrack her frame.

"Are you the lead surgeon!?" asks a gruff man, clearly the head guard in charge. As I nod, he quickly cranes his head over my shoulder, waving his arm. "Do you have a stretcher; we need a _stretcher_ over here, _NOW_!"

"Here!" replies Hollister as she and a few orderlies arrive with item in question.

I quickly make my way to Mrs. Kane's side, gently clasping her shoulder. "Miss…we need to help your husband before it's _too late_. _See_? We have a stretcher right here for him, but I need you to let him go. Just for a little while. _Please_ , let us help him. Let us help President Kane _live._ "

It seems to have worked, as the older woman moves away just enough for myself and President Kane's guards to heave him onto the gurney. The elder president's eyes were unfocused; his grey suit was sopping wet with blood.

From a quick observation, his situation was moribund…but _why_ , over a few gunshots? We'll have to find out once we get inside.

Mrs. Kane attempts to leave the limousine, only to drop to her knees whilst clutching her stomach – her white glove now caked red. Apart from her stomach, she was also hit in the arm as well, judging by how limp it appears. A second stretcher is brought out, but she refuses it, instead finding refuge with a female agent, – the one who drove the limousine. Prada and Hollister stand by as well, attempting to assist the First Lady onto the gurney.

"I got her, go and help the president!" The Agent shouts.

She doesn't need to say it twice. "Come on," I pant, nodding off towards the sliding doors. "I have a trauma room prepped and ready to go!"

"Well, _what in Snow's name are we waiting for? MOVE_!" barks the head agent in charge.

…

The trauma centre is the best of the best, fitted with Captiol-tier supplies and equipment. Surrounded by four teal-coloured walls, the operating room was as big as two bedrooms, allowing multiple bodies to linger as my team and I began to work on the downed president. We work in tandem, as on a three count we lift the man onto the operating table.

This president made sure that District 1 had the best equipment to aide its citizens, so I'll make _damn sure_ that _he_ benefits from it as well.

"Please, please all non-essential personnel **_move_** out the way!" pleads Dior, moving both aides and agents away from the operating table. "We NEED SPACE! The viewing glass will be left unpolarized!" For the most part, they heed Dior's orders although a handful of agents remain, looks of shock etched onto their faces.

"Get his clothes removed, now! Leave his undergarments on and get a kickbucket for the remainder!" I say to my team as they quickly begin cutting through his suit, pants and shirt. I turn towards the aides. "Can I get his blood type?!"

"Where's Oracle? Someone get Oracle in here!" the lead agent barks. Only five seconds elapses as an older man in a business suit jogs into the room, presumably a presidential aide. He carries two packs in his hands, dropping them on the nearby table. He was a Capitol, ginger haired with a beard.

"Gideon Montresor," he pants. "Chief of Staff to the President…The President's personal physician is in the Capitol, for we weren't expecting… _this._ But he did supply us with these reserve packets of blood as per protocol and this _card_ -" he reaches into his breast pocket, slipping me a plastic card. "That's all the medical information you need to know."

Nodding fervently, I turn my attention to the heart monitor that was recently hooked up to the president. His heart beat was dropping significantly, but _why_? I glance toward his chest, which was riddled with bullet wounds. No matter how many times we add sealer powder to the wounds, the blood keeps seeping through regardless. Thank _Snow_ for steel nerves.

"Turn him around so his back faces me. One of you prep the blood bags Mr. Montresor brought!" I order, carefully observing his backside as Dior and the orderlies gently heave the man over. The bullets passed through. Thankfully, no bullets were lodged anywhere which _should_ make for an easy patch up _._

 _Or so I thought._

The room falls into silence as President Kane begins to breathe audibly. More like _gasping_ …No, no. More like _agonal breathing._ That's impossible…the only plausible reasoning for this is the lack of air between the body and the brai…

Exchanging cautious glances with the various spectators in the room, I quickly zip to the head of the table. Dipping to my knees, I let out a soft curse as I further examine the President's head. One would think that the redness in his head was blood spray contrasting with the gray of his hair. But no, as I gently probe the area of intrigue piercing gasps resonate through the air as the side of President Kane's skull peels open to reveal a ghastly wound. Skull bone around the wound was _shattered_ , brain matter visible and ' _scrambled'_ in appearance. There was no exit wound, so the bullet must've grazed and lodged itself inside.

Judging by his breathing, the extent the damage is **_not_** good.

"One of you old his legs upward while the others begin patching him up, NOW!" I say to the orderlies and then motion to the President's legs. "Keep pressure on those wounds! Dior, do an emergency tracheotomy! We NEED to keep him stable before we move to the head wound!"

"How bad is it!?" cries Dior, her head craned as she makes an incision in the President's neck. The other orderlies begin hooking the president with the reserve blood from the limousine.

"It's not _detrimental_ , but the body wounds need to be stabilized and we **need** more airflow into his lungs." I reply, sinking the tracheal tube into his stoma. The audible sucking of air was music to my ears but the fervent beeping of the monitor was singing a bleaker tune. Dior and I share knowing glances. It isn't a tune we hear much of, but we know what it means nonetheless.

An orderly moves to perform CPR, but I put a gentle hand on her chest. "Leave him."

An Agent, seething with shock and rage, obviously finds fault in my order. "Leave him, WHAT DO YOU MEAN _LEAVE HIM!?"_

"Pumping him would be like pressing a balloon marred with holes, it would just make the situation worse…"

As we cautiously take a step backward from the table, the beeping on the monitor grows more fervent before 'flat lining' altogether. Regardless of my blood stained gloves I can't help but place my hands in my hair, running them down my face in anguish and fatigue. For in _OUR_ hospital, in _OUR DISTRICT - DISTRICT ONE_ , we lost Panem's president…Of the entire Districts in all of Panem, this shit happens _here_ – _The Little Capitol,_ The Capitol's Backyard…Loyalty comparable to District 2…

" _Fuck_ …" is all I could manage to say, watching on as Dior closes his eyes in a gesture of respect.

Mr. Montresor looks up from his communicuff, adjusting his glasses. "My watch says 3:30."

Dior nods whilst shuddering. "Time of expiry was 1530 hours. The cause of death is presumably Trauma – hypovolemia due to blood loss, not to mention the fatal trauma to the head."

We watch as the same female agent who drove the limousine, pushes past the crowd and slugs the lead agent in the chest.

"THIS IS ALL _YOUR_ FAULT!" She screeches, shoving a finger towards the older head agent in charge. "IF YOU DIDN'T CALL THEM OFF, THE PRESIDENT WOULD BE **ALIVE**!"

"It's true…" murmurs a dark skinned man, turning towards the older agent. "You called us off just as they began to enter the downtown core. If we _stayed_ on the runner boards… _"_

The older agent glances around at the looks of confusion and shock launched his way. "I-I _didn't_ _know_...The Kane's _hated_ security always lumped beside them when they're out and abou-"

" _Who cares_ what they think about security!? It's not _THEIR_ job to dictate how they're protected!" the young woman seethes, cutting her rant short as she takes a sharp breath. "For _Panem's_ sake…"

"Tiberius, Amelia _please…"_ Mr. Montresor urges while motioning towards certain members of the room. People blow into handkerchiefs and lean on one another to attain some form of support. The room falls into silence once more spare the sniffles and light sobs as each and every one in attendance takes in what happened here today. We all turn as the sliding doors open with an audible hiss.

"Mrs. Kane…" an Aide murmurs sadly.

"First Lady Kane, w-why aren't you being patched up?" Dior inquires.

Hollister pushes his way into the room, panting all the while. "I'm sorry Heathcliff, we patched her up as best we could but she _insisted_ she come here…"

With her dress in absolute tatters, the elderly woman stumbles towards the steel table – one gloved hand clutching her stomach wound and the other hanging limply by her side. With her eyes enveloped in a thousand mile stare, she lies over the chest of the fallen leader and begins to weep. A female aide breaks down crying as well, followed by the audible crashing of equipment resonating through the air as an Agent vents out their frustrations.

"Be _careful_ with that." Snaps Dior halfheartedly, her voice tinged with anguish and defeat.

I give the angered Agent a glance, but pay them no mind, for _I too_ would be smashing things as well. This was _too_ coincidental, all this happening on the _cusp_ of change. No more Hunger Games, the average Joe becoming more prosperous as the years go by. And the man who spearheaded all that change was _dead._

"My gods…Is this all a dream?" A Nurse murmurs quietly to herself.

The aide, Mr. Montresor, seems to have regained his composure as he activates a holocall on his communicuff.

"This is Montresor. Get me in touch with DeWynter's people, _now_."

* * *

thedewynterdynasty dot wordpress dot com = for lore and information.

theluckyfewhg dot wordpress dot com = for the victors of my universe.

*2155 PMC Ambassador = 1955 Chrysler Imperial Limousine.

*= 'End of The World' by Skeeter Davis . . . I wonder if anyone looks up those songs I use in my fics...

 _ ***I do not own the Hunger Games. I'm simply playing with the world and bending it to my will!***_

 ** _*This fic may contain sexual innuendos, swearing and violence.*_**

 **Yo! Author in the making!**

 **My name is Tyler as you can see and I am a one-time SYOT writer with one completed story under my belt.** ' _Haus Der Toten'_ back in 2015 to March of 2018. **I've built quite the world for my self as you can see, and this prologue serves as a bridge between my old SYOT and my next SYOT** **which shall take place during the 100th Hunger Games.** **If you haven't read my previous SYOT, this may or may not make so much sense, but I believe this chapter was written so that you get the gist of who some people are. Reading the blogs would also help.**

 **As of July 2018, I'm joining the Reserves, and spending some time trying to straighten myself out for attending university... the military shouldn't take time away from this, and university prep shouldn't either, besides night school. I also work part time, but that shouldn't take away either.**

 **As of right now...I think I'm gonna just work on this for now. Most of this is pre-written. So it shouldn't take long to finish so that I can move on to the actual SYOT itself.** **This little miniseries is just a fleshing out of a character I've grown fond of, my Vice President of Panem Viondra DeWynter - The Silver-Tongued Venus!**

 **If you are interested, you can PM me and I'll gladly give you a form to save in your Docs and hold on to until the real thing comes out. Up to you, you can also wait until I actually start the SYOT.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


	3. Realization

**_Three: Realization_**

* * *

"Viondra I really must say, you have a physique of a _goddess_. Honestly, I can't take my eyes away for the life of me!"

With a bashful shrug, I roll my shoulders as I stretch out on the sofa under me. "Why _thank you_ Lenora. I like to credit the peacekeeping service to regimenting my physique. They drill habits into you that one simply _cannot_ kick." I give the dark skinned woman a look over, pursing my lips. "You're not too bad yourself, Ms. Carson. Thank you for _hosting_ this get-together, it's always a delight to sit back and let my eyes wander…"

I do _just that_ , my eyes hungrily roaming the bodies of fellow party goers as they engage in various activities without a _care_ in the world.

 _Ah…nudist parties. You know, they once said that nudism is a way of life in harmony with nature with the intention of encouraging 'self-respect', 'respect for others' and 'the environment'. They also said that sexuality has no place within the practice. Although…judging by the various acts going on around me, I suppose we've omitted that last part._

 _Now I know what you're thinking, 'How **hedonistic**_ ' _as you scoff and roll your eyes. It's the **Capitol** , would you expect anything less? As sung by Cole Porter way back when – in this city, **Anything Goes.** There's just something about it…nudity, in front of complete strangers nonetheless. It's so 'risqué' and 'enthralling'…_

I call for an Avox who quickly heeds to my whim for a drink. He's a rather young man, a shame really, probably caught up in the spy scandal three years prior. Long story short, he and a dozen others usurped information about Panem's infrastructure and gave it to foreign nations. Judging by the rather awkward way he diverts his eyes from me and the rest of my entourage, he seems to be rather anxious and _rightfully so._

"Avox," I croon, setting down the flute of champagne as I rise up from the settee. Breaking his 'personal bubble' I stand nose to nose with the young man, ignoring the giggles of my friends as I bore into the eyes of the Avox…well as much as I could given that his eyes were _anywhere_ but to his front.

"My friends here were telling me how _great_ my body looked. As a woman nearing middle age with one child birthed, I appear _'top of the line'_ , no?"

As I gently take his hands and begin to guide it towards my body he pulls away, fervently murmuring something unintelligible whilst pointing in another direction. With a hand on my bare hip as I cock it to the side I dismiss him with a wave, watching as he darts out of the room. My friends could barely contain their laughter.

"I feel sorry for them." Lenora muses, downing a chalice of drink. "If they just stayed in line, they too could be enjoying themselves like we are now. A shame, really."

"I wonder what intercourse is like with them..." Gemma muses as she taps her talon-like nails against her lip.

"I've tried _both_ genders," chimes Aelius, waving his hand proudly in the air. "It's as if they've lost all personality after the whole 'avoxing' thing. Half of the time they just make like a rug and _lay_ there!"

This revelation has all persons within our circle breaking out with laughter.

"Say…Viondra," Aelius chimes in now, leaning in from his recliner. "Is all this _garbage_ about the Games and elections coming true?"

My lips scrunch into a frown as I nod sadly, prompting groans of disappointment to ring out through our little space.

"Why are we allowing people to _vote_ who aren't versed on such topics to begin with?" says Lenora.

"Why you ask? Because of ' _progress'_ my dear friends," I say, grimacing at what this _'progress'_ entails. "As much as I would prefer a stable leader not bound to the whims of a population who isn't versed as you said, we wouldn't want to be liable for another _temper tantrum_ via the districts again…"

"Give them an inch, and then they'll want a _mile_ next." Mutters Aelius as all of us nod in agreement.

"Elections give the chance for fresh faces…I suppose. Although I _still_ disagree with the concept of elections _unless_ it pertains to legislative or even district governments," I relent, sipping my champagne. "Although when it comes to this Hunger Games cancelation mess…Something really _unfortunate_ would have to take place in order for-" Before I could finish my sentence, the head agent in charge of my security detail barges into the room, a Praetorian Guard by the name of _Thaddeus Dallaire._

He was a young man, about thirty or so with blond hair that grayed at the temples. Fellow partygoers glance toward him in confusion while the man becomes flushed in the face. He _was_ the only clothed person in the room after all, besides the Avoxes. Upon making eye contact with me, he immediately darts towards my social circle.

"Radiance is secure, I repeat, Radiance is secure. Bring Stagecoach Two around, we're leaving." He commands into his communicuff.

"Agent Dallaire," I chirp, resting my head on my hand as I continue to lounge on the sofa under me. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Hmmm…" Lenora grumbles with intrigue, giving Dallaire a look-over. "Why don't you lose the uniform and join us, young man?"

"As _tempting_ as the invite seems, no thank you ma'am." he smiles sadly, hands clasped behind his back as he glances toward me. Upon laying eyes on my naked body, he quickly diverts his view towards the window behind me. "Madam Vice President I'm sorry to interrupt your… _'gathering'_ , but you need to come with me _immediately."_

He extends his hand to offer me a robe, which I reluctantly take. With a tentative gaze, I watch as the entire room focuses their attention on us now as I rise to a sitting position.

"What seems to be the issue, Agent?" I ask once more while giggling in confusion.

"There's been an incident. It is essential to the functioning of Panem that you come with me _at once."_

Someone in the room lets out a sharp gasp as I take in the Dallaire's words. _'Essential to the functioning of Panem'…_ Has the universe granted me a ' _freebie'_? Or maybe I spoke too soon…?

With a curt nod and a smack of the lips, I gesture towards the room entrance. "…Very well, lead the way. But I'll need to get dressed, _obviously."_

* * *

As I step out into the hallway from the washroom adjusting my stockings with one hand whilst holding my heels in the other, Agent Dallaire is on me in an instant. With his sidearm drawn, he presses a hand into the small of my back while pressing me forward down the stairs towards the manor exit.

"I can't even put on my _shoes_ , Dallaire?" I mutter with annoyance. As we approach the front door, two more Praetorian Guards could be seen posted up on either side – toting imposing plasma rifles.

"Sorry Madam Vice President," replies Dallaire, his voice tinged with sympathy. "You can do that in the car on the way to the Presidential Mansion."

"What of my daughter, Agent Dallaire?" I inquire, watching as the guards monitoring the doors swing them open, rushing outside with their rifles drawn. Dallaire and I pause, only to move outside into the spitting rain as a guard motions us forward. Instead of my usual limousine and two supporting cars for my entourage, peacekeepers with their imposing trucks now accompany the sleek automobiles on the curl-de-sac.

"No need to fret. Codename _Rosebud_ and her avox are currently en route to the mansion from school, madam."

"Where are the ministers, the HeadPeacekeeper Council? Were they notified of this emergency?"

Dallaire nods. "All ministers currently in the Capitol that aren't at the mansion are en route as well."

As another rifle-toting agent swings the limousine door open, Dallaire lifts me off my feet bridal style while stuffing me inside the passenger cabin. I catch the door before he could slam it shut.

" _Dallaire_ , what in _Snow's name_ is going on?!" I press.

"The president's motorcade was attacked while riding in District 1. Reports say he was wounded." He replies flatly, taking advantage of my shock while he slams the door and slips into the passenger seat in the driver's cabin. Not even a millisecond passes before the limousine begins to move, its sirens wailing as it powers through the streets en route to the Presidential Mansion. As if he read my mind, Agent Dallaire activates the radio in an attempt to gain some form of clarity.

 _"We interrupt our scheduled PBC Radio program to deliver a special news bulletin. In Downtown Helena, District 1, multiple shots were fired at the presidential motorcade. I repeat, multiple shots were fired at President Kane's limousine in District 1 five minutes ago. The president alongside his wife were beginning a tour of the nation, starting in the luxury district. Stand by for more detai-"_

My communicuff chiming is enough to rouse me out of my haze of absolute disbelief. I answer it, watching as a hologram of a young woman appears before me. Her mousy appearance and cat-eye glasses peg the girl as Antonia Lockpetal, a senior aide to President Kane.

"This is DeWynter..." I say, too eager and desperate for my liking.

 _"Madam Vice President! Oh my, something very very terrible has transpired!"_ Antonia sobs, tears streaming down her face as she tries and fails to compose herself. The sound of a car accelerating, yells, alongside the sirens of peacekeepers could be heard clearly.

"Calm yourself, Miss Lockpetal…" I say, stifling my annoyance. "Tell me, _what happened_ up there?"

" _Well_ …" Antonia sniffles, fumbling with her purse for a tissue. _"Everything was going along so well. The president and his wife were standing in the parade car, waving to the crowds and then…"_ she pauses, swallowing as she begins fanning her face. _" **Gunshots,** so many of them! There was blood **everywhere!** The limousine spun out of control and crashed into a guardrail! T-there was one agent…his **head** just…"_

I frown, raising a hand in an attempt to silence the hysteric woman. "Antonia, you need to **_focus._** Where is Gideon, what's being done right now?"

 _"Right, right, I'm sorry! Gideon told me to tell you that we're heading to the local hospital to treat the wounded and that he'll contact you and the cabinet when he has an update."_ Antonia replies, her head bobbing off screen before turning her attention to me once more _. "Madam Vice President I need to go, we've entered the parking lot. Please excuse me!"_

The hologram of the young woman fades as she disconnects the call. I'm left sitting idly in my limousine, gazing at nothing in particular while the radio host fervently drones on about the events in District 1.

* * *

Like the busy corridors of the East Wing of the Presidential Mansion, the Parlor Room was equally filled with mansion staffers, bureaucrats and ministers alike. With solemn faces and some outright weeping, the holoscreen on the wall was currently switched to the face of PBC anchor Chad Blakely as they chatted frantically among themselves.

Through the crowds of people, my eyes instantly fall onto a three-year-old girl with the _beadiest_ blue eyes I've ever laid eyes on. Matilda Frances DeWynter, my _daughter_.

It seems that she has spotted me, moving from the grasp of her avoxed nanny, Flavia, as she zips towards me – her teddy bear in hand. " _Mommy_!"

She clings to the hem of my skirt, although I don't reciprocate her gesture. It seems that Matilda's outburst has gained the attention of my colleagues as the various conversations in the room grind to a halt, all eyes focusing on me as I motion for Flavia to take Matilda back.

"Has there been an updates in regards to the condition of the president?" I say to no one in particular.

"The answer to that is varied," answers Aristella Belliard, Minister of Districts' Affairs. "Some people say he was unconscious, some people say he took a hit to the head…while others say he was _riddled_ with shots."

"What about the staffers on the trip, shouldn't _they_ know about his condition?"

"There was a delay, half the motorcade was left behind as the limousine made its way to the hospital," Replies the Minister of Finance, "They're just as confused as _we are_ at this point."

Perlana Singh, Head Gamemaker, points to the holovision screen. "The television is the only reliable source of info we've got so far."

" _It is currently 3:15 Capitol Time…and as you can see here, the scene at District 1 Civic Hospital is best described as 'desperate'_." Says Blakely while clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, _"Concerned citizens from around the city have descended onto the hospital property to find out the condition of their president, who is currently undergoing an emergency operation here. Sources also say that First Lady Kane, alongside Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games Victor and now Governor of District 1, Serene Westenfluss, has also been injured. Sources also confirm that one Praetorian Guard assigned to the president, was killed_."

Pressing a hand to his earpiece, the news anchor nods before clearing his throat once more.

 _"We do have footage now of the incident that took place at the Prospect Avenue Overpass half an hour ago. Mind you, the video you are about to see may be…disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised."_

The screen cuts to the presidential limousine. Everything appears normal, President Kane and his wife alongside Sixty-Sixth Victor Serene Westenfluss wave to the crowd amiably. Agesilaus and Westenfluss exchange words and as the president turns around a bullet pierces the windshield, killing the driver instantly. The bullet passes through the head of the driver, into and out the chest of Agesilaus who hunches over in agony, implanting itself into Serene's collarbone.

The room exclaims in shock at this as the limousine slams into a median, ruining the front grille. The exclamations reach fever pitch as the grey and pinkish-white of the president and first lady's suit and dress are peppered red as their bodies are riddled with bullets. Like a cartoon character suspended in mid-air due to shock, their bodies jerk in reaction to each impact with a final bullet to Kane's head prompting most of the room to look away in disgust. Those who were weeping were outright _bawling_ now, scurrying out the room with absolute anguish.

As for myself I stay where I stand, hands folded around my midsection as I continue to watch the old man get cut down once more. What an _unfortunate_ event…for a man of eighty or so years, I would've imagined a more _dignified_ end.

Still reeling from the shock of the events on screen, nearly _everyone_ including myself jumps as the chime of a communicuff resonating through the parlor. The source of the chime belonged to my communicuff, the caller being Gideon Montresor – Chief of Staff to the President.

I quickly answer the call, ignoring the eyes that shift my way. Slowly, I make my way towards a nearby window, peering out towards the front gates as a mass of reporters and concerned citizens begin to congregate there.

" _Gideon_. How is he…?"

His face says it all. _"President Kane is dead."_

More gasps resonate throughout the room. A young woman barely contains her sobs as she rushes out the room. I scrounge up as much emotion as one could muster. "…For _Panem's_ sake… _Alright_ , how is Mrs. Kane, Serene?"

" _They're fine. Serene should be clear to leave the hospital later this evening. Mrs. Kane is to be treated on the hoverplane back to the Capitol. A train would take too long given our current situation. We've…prepped the remains for returning back as well. The mansion physician requested the autopsy be done in the Capitol, which makes sense."_

I manage a nod. "Very true."

 _"Which leads me to…well, you."_ Gideon continues, taking in a breath. _"As per protocol, you are Interim President of Panem. The chief magistrate has been notified and is on her way as we speak to solidify that title."_

"Right…" I reply, briefly glancing upward to meet the faces that continue to gawk at me. "I take it that you won't be here?"

He jostles his head. _"In time for your swearing in, most likely we will. Mrs. Kane only suffered a bullet to the arm and graze to the stomach. Before she went in, she affirmed she wanted to be present."_

"That's…good. Does his _son_ know - the _grandchildren_?"

 _"They were told…Obviously not taking the news very well."_

I purse my lips. I've seen the grandchildren while on business here. They were the old man's world. I couldn't imagine how they must be feeling. "Okay then. I'll leave you to it Gideon…Be sure to inform me of any sudden change to Mrs. Kane's health."

With a mutual nod, the line was disconnected. Leaving me with a room filled with nothing but silence and empty spirits. It is now and _only_ _now_ do I come to realize the immense power that has been dropped upon my shoulders like a steel girder.

"Could someone inform my family of the recent happenings?" I say aloud to no one in particular. "I wish for them to be here while the ceremony transpires."

* * *

If one were to look back at archival footage, presidential inaugurations _always_ were an affair filled with glam and pomp. Presidents and their wives would set the trend by styling new fashions; hand in hand they would parade through the streets and wave to the spectators whilst _hundreds_ of news articles would be written speculating who would wear what at the inaugural ball.

Although in my case, this is never to be.

Instead of thousands of onlookers, a couple hundred staffers, bureaucrats, ministers and the like fill the Presidential Ballroom to witness my swearing in. As for myself, I stand smack-dab in the middle of them as they surround me in an expansive circle. With cameras silently rolling to capture the historic moment, my daughter Matilda clings to the hem of my dress while her grandfather, grandmother and the rest of her relatives watch on as Chief Magistrate Katherine Odin swears me in. Even Gideon, Mrs. Kane and the rest of the staff who attended the ill-fated journey to District 1 managed to make it.

Look at their long faces…They act as if they _never_ saw an event like this transpiring. Fixing the constitutional void to allow elections and promoting the district mayors to _'governors'_ was one thing…but dismantling the Hunger Games – the _bedrock_ of this nation, was a step _too far_. They should be happy that a _'good old girl'_ is back in office to steer the ship on course.

"Miss DeWynter, please raise your right hand and repeat after me. ' _I Viondra Celine DeWynter do sincerely promise and swear to the best of my ability…'_ "

"I, Viondra Celine DeWynter do sincerely promise and swear to the best of my ability-"

" _'That I will truthfully and faithfully to the best of skill and knowledge…"_

"That I will truthfully and faithfully to the best of my skill and knowledge-"

 _"Execute the powers and trusts reposed in me as President of Panem…"_

"Execute the powers and trusts reposed in me as President of Panem-"

 _"As well as preserve, protect and uphold the Treaty of Treason and thus Constitution of Panem…"_

"As well as preserve, protect and uphold the Treaty of Treason and thus Constitution of Panem-"

 _"And ensure that Panem remains united today, tomorrow and forever."_

"And ensure that Panem remains united today, tomorrow and _forever."_

With a warm smile, the dark skinned justice envelops her hand with mine, pumping it once. "Congratulations, Madam President." She turns towards the cameras and audience at large now. "Ladies and gentlemen, the 30th President of Panem. May the Capitol and its customs remain a tribute to the darkest days behind."

With that, the crowd bursts into polite applause. I'm immediately descended upon as hands jut towards me from every conceivable direction, not to mention the countless ' _congratulations'_ thrown my way.

"Congratulations, Viondra." says Gideon solemnly, patting my shoulder. "…I've taken the liberty of assembling the national security team. We'll be in the Snow Room when you're finished."

I grip his hand, flashing him a genuine smile as Mother pulls me in for a quick kiss. " _Congratulations_ , my darling. I know you'll do a superb job."

"Richard could be very well looking down at us right now, proud of his _'little sis'_." Adds Father as he caresses my shoulder.

" _Thank you_ Father, Mother. Without your guidance, I don't know _where_ I would be." I praise, turning my head to find the eyes of _former_ First Lady Cruella Kane staring back at me.

Words _couldn't_ describe the way she appears. She still wore the bloody pinkish-white dress stained with her and her husband's blood. Having been fresh out of emergency care, she walked with a cane. Her feature, so _broken, looked_ as if just saying ' _hello'_ would drive her to _tears_. If only I could get into that head of hers…she probably already knows that her husband stepped out of bounds, but the shock following the events that transpired have rendered her 'numb'.

What a shame.

We swap cheeks for kisses as I hold her hands in mine. "The nation mourns with you, Mrs. Kane." I coo. "Rest assured we'll find the assailants responsible."

She murmurs out a quiet and deflated _'thank you kindly'_ before I'm ushered in front of cameras and reporters. It seems that it takes a tragedy for them to shut up and keep quiet. Matilda remains glued to my side, her face bunched up into my leg. She never liked giant crowds. Flavia motions to take her away, but I wave her off. The nation seeing a _'maternal successor'_ would work _wonders_.

"Madam President, do you have a statement for the nation at this time?" asks a reporter.

"Yes. Yes I do." I reply, clearing my throat. "Panem suffered a great loss today. I can't imagine the shock many in the nation are feeling. If President Kane wanted it any other way, he would yearn for me to do my best – and I shall. I know that the nation is with Mrs. Kane and the Kane family at this time. I ask that you all keep them in your thoughts. As for right now, I have urgent matters to attend to – excuse me."

Pfft…I wouldn't be his second hand if he had his way. I'm surprised he hasn't had me killed off. Then again, he always found himself 'above' the rest of us. It was his lack of 'getting down and dirty' that hindered him and ultimately killed him.

In Panemian politics, no one is morally above anyone else. Even the most 'starry-eyed' of us are dragged into the fray after a tenure or two, whatever your vice may be.

* * *

Gideon clears his throat upon seeing me. "Ladies and gentlemen, the _President of Panem_."

Any silent conversations prior to my arrival were instantly silenced. Where the civilian bureaucrats would steadily rise, the blue tunic-wearing general staff of Panem's Peacekeepers instantly jolted from their seats after a call of attention was made. Gideon pulls out a chair for me to sit down on. It wasn't just _any_ chair however…it was the _executive chair,_ reserved at the head of the roundtable for the _president_ only.

Even now as I sit down and regard the members of _my_ cabinet, the weight of the office I hold begins to intensify tenfold.

"Please sit down," I say aloud while motioning towards the Headpeacekeepers with a light smile. Being a former servicewoman myself, I knew their customs _very_ well. "At ease, peacekeepers. Could someone give me a rundown of our current situation? "

Field Marshall Linda Parangosky, Chairwoman of the Headpeacekeeper council and therefore the nation's top soldier rose from her seat. "Of course Madam President, but first we need to affirm your position as Supreme Leader of Panem's military force. Major, if you could bring the satchel over please and thank you?"

An Aide-de-camp with hardcase cuffed to his wrist quickly strides over toward me. Placing the satchel on the mahogany table, he opens it to reveal a holo. As he activates the holo we're greeted by the holograms of a young girl and boy. _Vi and Pax. Self-aware AI supercomputers,_ Vi and Pax primarily are in charge of operating arena systems in the _Hunger Games._ However due to their vast ability, this also extends to satellite and military systems.

"Greetings Miss DeWynter," chirps Vi with a curtsy.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" adds Pax with a regal bow.

"AI, under Protocol Omega, you are to transfer all operational control of Panem's armaments and assets to President DeWynter." Commands Parangosky.

"What happened to President Kane?" asks Vi, only to receive silence. She frowns, letting out a soft sigh. "That's a shame. Mrs. DeWynter, please state your full name."

"Viondra Celine DeWynter." I say aloud.

Vi nods. "Voice recognition confirmed…initializing….Please ensure that all counter-espionage measures are being enacted to prevent the leaking of sensitive information."

Gideon motions to an aide. "All non-cabinet level officials please vacate the room. And you - turn on the white noise scrambler and lock the room door."

As half the room empties save for the Headpeacekeepers and select cabinet ministers, a map of Panem and the remnants of the world appear in front of us. Different icons flooded the screen in the form of missiles, dots and other items. Some moved while others stayed stagnate.

"Vocal registration is now complete. The Supreme Leader of Panem's Peacekeeping Force is now Viondra Celine DeWynter, 30th President of Panem." Chimes Vi.

"After a brief scan of all available national defense apparatuses, **_the Pan American National Economic Movement_** currently has roughly 1,400 nuclear warheads in various states of readiness. Alongside conventional nuclear arsenals, 25,000 tons of both chemical and biological agents are currently in reserve." She continues.

"…This doesn't include the 100 pods of various bio organic weapons – _muttations –_ capable of wreaking mass devastation." adds Pax.

"In addition, all twelve Peacekeeper divisions including Snow Island's garrison, naval and air assets are at peak preparedness and await further orders…at Field Marshall Parangosky's behest." Finishes Vi."

Humming in thought I recline in my seat, for all this information was too much to decipher. My stint at North Point prepped me for the bare minimum, not _this._ I have Kane to thank for that, delegating me to hobnob with the nation's social elite moreso military operations.

"What you're looking at Madam President is a satellite of Peacekeeper operations. Our Submarines, airspace, location of our silos…you name it," Says Parangosky, noticing my uneasiness. "It's customary for the president to have a national security briefing such as this when they assume office."

"Thank you for the introductory course, Field Marshall." I nod, gesturing to the map. "Is there any due cause for me to use a nuclear asset? Am I to believe that the assassin of the president is a _foreigner_?"

It _has_ happened in the past. Whether it be raiders during the fledging years of Panem's beginnings, or foreign spies connected with District 13 during the confusion of the Second Rebellion. Although any and all loopholes have been closed so that possibility is rather…

" _Impossible_." Says Aristella as she dismissively shakes her head. "We've dealt with any foreign aliens once and for all back in Year 95. Besides, no foreign nation has the means to implant an alien within _District 1_ of all places. No foreign ship would pass the Hawaiian Islands, Snow Island or Greenland without us knowing."

Gideon nods. "Potential adversaries from the east or west are too far away to do such a thing, so a theory like that is a _conspiracy theory_ at best. Rest assured Madam President we have Attorney General Rose and the garrison in District 1 canvassing the entire region. You know what they say; the PK's _always_ get their man."

It takes exceptional awareness as I catch the Generals exchanging terse glances toward one another, thus _confirming_ a theory that has nagged me ever since I was first made aware of Kane's accident.

"Very well…" I muse as I motion towards the map that floats in the middle of the roundtable. "How are the Districts taking the news thus far?"

Aristella Belliard jostles her head. "So far, the nation is paralyzed with shock. Vi, Pax? Could you please?"

The map dissipates into the scenes of various downtown cores within each district. From Spokane to District 12 all scenes were the same, men and women gawking at jumboscreens, television shop windows and even their car radios to hear the latest news from District 1.

Gideon raises his hand. "I highly recommend you enact the _Curfew Act_ if it hasn't been already. It gets citizens off the streets. The _last things_ we need are a rash of riots because a few citizens have festering thoughts."

I nod in agreement. The denizens of the districts are not entirely as foolhardy as us Capitols perceive them to be. Soon, their tears will turn to resentment and then _hatred_ as their only chance at ' _hope'_ was brutally cut down in front of them.

"I _agree_ , Gideon. Aristella, make sure that the respective governments within the Districts are secure if they _aren't_ already. And of course, I'd imagine that Field Marshall Parangosky and her staff have communicated the necessary orders to the Headpeacekeepers across Panem to maintain order during this time?"

"I'll have you know Madam President that Districts' Affairs and the Panem Peacekeepers work hand in hand," Assures Parangosky while she inclines her head. "I'm positive that Minister Belliard will make the appropriate calls to affirm the recent transitions and give further instruction to those in the districts."

I nod once more, rising to my seat as my cabinet follows suit. Their relevance of my newfound power _invigorates_ me, as I plaster a warm smile on my lips.

"I shall _help_ make those calls alongside Aristella and Gideon. I'm sure a more ' _personal'_ touch would be well received." I glance down at my communicuff. "It's getting fairly late. I'm positive that all primary tasks pertinent to Panem's wellbeing have been made. Have a pleasant evening and I shall see you all throughout the rest of this week. Meeting adjourned."

After _countless_ minutes of receiving calls from governors from across the districts offering their condolences and countless socialites attempting to do the same – only to come off as _desperate_ to get closer to _yours truly_ – I ordered the mansion staff home to their families. Save for the black-coated Praetorian Guards that line the hallway of the East Wing, the heart of the executive branch was awfully _quiet_. The mansion was still filled with the belongings of President Kane, so until the transition is complete I sent Matilda back to the family estate with Flavia.

Part of me wonders if I should even leave _my estate_ for this mansion…Though I suppose that decision could wait.

Opening the grand doors to the State Office, I once again am overwhelmed by the history and power that emanates from my position. I begin studying and caressing every item in sight. _Everything_ from the marble desk, velvet chair, and red carpet to the giant statue of the golden eagle behind it – _all_ of it was _mine_.

…President Kane never really caught up with the times. Some ' _renovations'_ here and there would do the space immense justice.

With one hand clasped behind my back I peer out the nearest window toward the gates leading up to the mansion grounds. The orange hue, _candles_ I presume, can be seen as clear as day at the base of the iron gates. _Public condolences_ in the likes of teddy bears, vigils, cards and signs and so on.

Sure the average Capitol denizen would be in mourning, but among the upper echelons – the sponsors, select ministers and bureaucrats – _they_ are no doubt rejoicing.

I gasp lightly as a pair of hands snake behind my waist, their lips peppering my neck with kisses until they line up with my ear. "Crisis averted. Congratulations, _Madam President_."

"Minister _Antonius Rose_ …what a _pleasant surprise,"_ I breathe, reaching around and rubbing a hand through his slicked hair. "How did you _do_ such a thing…?"

The Justice Minister chuckles huskily into my ear, continuing to plant kisses on me while his hands roam anywhere and _everywhere._ "The District Intelligence Agency took four known dissidents in the District and hijacked them to high heaven. After that, they posted them in high-rises overlooking the motorcade…it was _all history_ from there."

I purr, placing myself against a pillar as we embrace with a deep kiss. "Better than my plan," I say as we break apart for air. "Around the 99th, the Headpeacekeepers and I planned on blowing up this office with _him in it_."

He places his hands around my hips, snickering all the while. "You always were quite showy. Where's my daughter?"

I'm still affixed with his salt-and-pepper hair, my hands running through them once more before focusing on the back of his neck."Our _daughter_ is back at my estate. How are Drusilla and the kids?"

"Drusilla's bawling her eyes out over your predecessor's untimely demise. The kids are quite shocked, but well none the less." He replies. "So…what's the course of action now?"

"Well, I'm quite positive that this year's Halloween has been absolutely _ruined._ But in regards to the more pertinent topic at hand…Kane's _State of the Nation_ speech shall be overtaken by me. I'm sure a little sugar coated words will pacify the districts enough."

He comes in for another kiss, which I reciprocate. "These aren't the days of Snow. People will make a move to usurp you."

Clutching his lapels, I kiss him again. "I'm _very much_ aware. No need to fret, I have everything _planned_ out. All one needs to do is watch me."

He chuckles once more, placing his forehead onto mine. "Your story will be quite the spectacle indeed."

My lips twitching into a smirk, I nod off toward the desk. "It's made out of marble and gold… _fairly_ sturdy I would imagine."

Chuckling, we exchange knowing glance toward one another. Overtaken by lust, both of us are lost in a sea of kisses and wandering hands.


	4. Red Meat

_**Four: Red Meat**_

* * *

While the female portion of my nine siblings obviously dabbled in the ' _female'_ side of Capitol high society, I preferred to indulge in the antics of the _males_.

Yes, being bathed with suitors and indulging in tea in the sitting room with friends while chatting amiably about the latest Victor and _who_ has taken up with _whom_ does have _some_ appeal, I've always preferred being at the _centre_ of power – in my father's study as he debated with cabinet ministers and lawmakers…even if it meant placing my ear against the door. Ever the 'tomboy', it took father some time to finally adjust to the fact that I wasn't going to be a 'Stepford Wife'. All the glances of confusion, the snide remarks about certain activities not being a ' _woman's place'_ …all of it was worth it in the end.

Following the death of my eldest brother, Richard ' _Dick_ ' DeWynter during the Second Rebellion…Father began to take my aspirations seriously.

"Being Senior Minister to Coriolanus for all those years, the leash was _never_ let up," Says Father, unscrewing his flask and taking a sip. "He was pompous, a _micromanager_ who thought he knew it all and nearly lost us the country to a _District 12 whore_ and her berries. We nearly lost our grip again with Kane and his quest for ' _equality'_ …and here you are now. I wished that Dick would be in this position but Viondra my darling, I am indeed _proud_ of you."

I find myself blushing red. "Again, _thank you_ Father for _believing_ in me, I told you I would be much mo-"

He raises his hand, shushing me as he raises his rifle. "Op, op, op! Sweet Panem, look how many there are! _Open fire!"_

 _A_ flock of Panemian Geese seem to have fallen for our trap, landing a little ways ahead of us in to join the group of plastic geese replicas 'fluttering' their wings and 'roosting'. My father and I, alongside our party of close friends, family and Praetorian Guards cock our guns and fire as they land. Not one goose escapes our volley of buckshot. The dogs that accompany us, alongside my mutated Hyena's _Juniper and Mars_ , are quick to paddle over to the kill zone and fit as many geese into their mouths as they could fit.

"We'll eat like _kings_ this evening, am I right father!?" Calls my younger brother Reginald, to the hearty laughs of our fellow hunters.

"Yes Reg! Roasted, stewed, fried, so many options!" replies father, turning to me now with a slight frown on his lips. "I'm sorry my darling, you were saying something?"

I suppress my annoyance, flashing Father a tight-lipped smile. "…I was saying that I told you I would be much more useful in the political profession than being relegated to some trophy wife."

" _Ah_ and _right_ you were." He nods, grunting while rowing us towards the hounds that continue to paddle their way towards us. "Speaking of ' _trophy wives'_ …How is my little Mattie doing? Did you ever find out the cause of her peculiar behavior?"

The thought of Matilda prompts me to sigh. Ever since she reached toddler-age, she has been somewhat of a handful. Thank _Snow_ for Avoxes. "The doctors say that the reason for the rigorous patterns, dislike of loud noises, inappropriate attachments…it's because of _autism_."

" _Autism_ ," Father repeats incredulously, "She doesn't have to be _confined,_ does she?"

"No, no. She has ' _Aspergers_ '…they say that she has the potential to be _quite_ smart, depending on the subjects she fancies in the future."

"That's very good." Nods Father. "A little… _'tutoring'_ on how to behave properly in given situations and she'll be as fit as a fiddle. What about this mess pertaining to Kane?"

"I've called for a period of national mourning. It's been three days and school attendance rates across the nation have _plummeted_ , people still glued to their holovision sets for the latest developments." I reply, petting both Juniper and Mars with a gloved hand as they leap onto the dinghy, jostling it to and fro.

"And what of the shooters?" asks Father.

"Elias Garnett, Ithaca Stevenson, Diamond Washington and Lucerne Wagner?" I recite aloud. They're to be killed tonight, 6PM capitol time…As for my predecessor, his funeral followed by my State of the Nation speech is set for this coming Friday."

"Ah yes…I imagine the event will be quite the historic one." He glances up at me now, his face serious. "What happens after the speech?"

I shrug, sighing. "I'm not quite sure. I have to find a way to steer the nation back on _track_. I believe I have an idea, but-"

"Well you better tread _carefully_ , my dear Viondra." Father hisses lowly, loading his shotgun as yet another flock of geese begin to circle their way down to a second set of traps. "If all my years of being in the inner circle have taught me _one thing_ – it's that one can _never_ get comfortable. You still have Mister Montresor running things at the mansion, right?"

I nod as Father returns my notion. " _Good_. Gideon is a smart man. He's part of the reason why we're all not wearing grey jumpsuits right now! In the end, my darling, I believe you'll do what's necessary. As long as you're fifty steps ahead of everyone else, you'll retain your leverage."

I mumble in agreement. For as much as I want to disagree, my presidency is _not_ a given. Luckily for me, the nation is still in the aftershocks of Kane's untimely fall which gives me ample time to prepare.

Until then, a little ' _lollygagging'_ wouldn't hurt anyone.

" _Mars, Juniper_ – sic em' my darlings!" I trill, cocking my shotgun, aiming and firing upon our long-necked friends.

…

"How do you like these new configurations, Madam President?"

Glancing at the Chief Housekeeper and then to the avoxes who zip this way and that as they assemble various sets of furniture, the expansive office was shaping up _quite nicely._

In contrast of President Kane's 'executive' approach, I opt for _'mid-century chic'_ – replacing Kane's black accents with cream and crimson, exchanging the bulky and conservative furniture with a more tapered and sleek aesthetic. I've chosen to use President Snow's expansive marble desk for my tenure. Various accessories such as abstract paintings, trophies from hunting, district artifacts, family photos, my stereo console and keepsakes of my time in the Panem Peacekeepers are located throughout the room. It maintained the stately appearance of presidents before me while _upholding_ my personal tastes.

"It looks _splendid_ , Mr. Isaacs." I chime, my smile faltering as I glance upon a painting of Kane and his wife. His eyes bore into my very being…I'd prefer it if his likeness wasn't looming over me whilst I work.

I wave dismissively towards the portrait. "I mean no disrespect, but could you get that out of here? I'd much rather prefer if I had the likeness of Panem's _first_ leader in my official photo."

He bows. "But _of course_ , Madam President…in fact, I believe the avoxes have received the portrait from storage already." His submissive demeanor is quickly replaced an annoyed glare as with a quick snap of the finger, a team of avoxes move to replace the painting of Kane and Mrs. Kane, replacing it with the likeness of Panem's _first president_. Imposing yet pensive in his navy blue suit and red necktie, his once signature blonde comb over was now ghost white – evidence of the stresses involved of unifying a fractured continent.

"Better, Madam President?" asks an Aide.

" _Much_ better," I reply, hands clasped behind my back as I glance upward towards the painting in reverence. "I believe his portrait serves as a _telling_ piece for my office, for _he too_ had many struggles throughout Panem's days of infancy…just as _I_ will following my predecessors slaying."

"I agree, President DeWynter. With all his shortcomings, he managed to make up for them by forging together _all this…_ Now if you could please take up a pose beside the desk, right next to the flag? By the beginning of next week, this photo will be framed in _every school, government building and storefront!"_

Without a word, I oblige, striking a pose while sitting on the edge of the desk with one knee crossed over the other – hands neatly folded over them.

"Good… _very_ good," the photographer chortles out a chuckle as he peers his head from behind the camera. " _Ms. DeWynter, my my_ , have you ever engaged in modeling before!?"

I return his laugh, shaking my head in a so-so motion. "During my stint in military college, _yes_ , I have dabbled in a recruitment poster or two…among other civilian pin-ups as well."

"Well, I'm _glad_ you think it's appropriate to set up shop, Madam _'President',"_ Spits a hostile voice. _"_ My father's body still lies in repose and you're already at work _erasing_ his mark!"

I peer over the aides and avoxes alike to find Senator Archibald Kane storming into my office _uninvited._ About four years my senior, the son of my predecessor bared a striking resemblance to his father – premature grays and all. And like his father, his disdain of me is equal if not _more_ given recent events. With his reddened eyes and unfocused posture, _someone_ has been nursing his families fall from grace with a little sauce.

" _Archie, Archie, Archie…"_ I coo, casually striding towards him. Agent Dallaire and his partner make a motion to apprehend the inebriated man, but I signal for them to stop. "I'm sorry my friend, I _wasn't_ thinking! My estate isn't fitting for everyday executive function so I need a place of operations in the city centre."

"Well…couldn't you have _waited_?!" he whines, frowning as I place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Suddenly, the room has fallen silent. It takes a wave of the hand from yours truly to get the avoxes and aides at work again.

"I couldn't _bare_ working in a space filled with his memory," I lie, straightening his askew tie and then brushing his shoulders. "I thought a fresh slate was needed, for _all_ the staff involved."

He frowns. "…I suppose that makes sense."

"Of course it makes sense! A little renovation here and there will improve the mood tenfold." I reply. "How is Mrs. Kane doing? Is she still in the West Wing residence?"

He sighs. "Yes. She's still a little shaken, but otherwise OK."

" _Good_! She can stay there as long as she wants until her old estate is in functioning order." I twist him around while gently escorting him out my office, into the sitting room and towards the East Wing hallway. "Now I suggest you get some rest for tomorrow as we have a big day coming up. I trust you'll be _extremely_ pleased with my speech as well. OK?"

"Right… _you're right;_ we have a country to run." Archibald sighs, scratching at his stubble. "Father would want us to continue on no matter _what_."

" _Exactly_ _Archie_ , I'll see you then alright? Have a _pleasant_ day, Senator Kane. Make sure you send your wife and children my love!"

As soon as he's out of earshot, my grin falters into a scowl. " ** _WHO_** is the secretary in charge of this sitting room?!"

"That would be me, Madam President…" answers a portly woman around my age or senior. _Honestly_ , she was built like a damned _deep freezer._

"Why was that man let into my office all _willy-nilly_ as if he _owned_ the blasted place!?" I seethe in response.

"He's the _president's son_ , miss!" she replies, her tone whiny. "I didn't want to give him anymore hassle…"

"He **_WAS_** the president's son, _not anymore. And that's PRESIDENT DeWynter_ to you _!"_ I fire back. Just as I begin to convulse at her lack of loyalty, I realize that _MY_ vice-presidential staffers are probably still at home awaiting orders to return to me. This mansion would be a _million percent_ more efficient if I had _loyal_ subordinates to aide me.

I guess that's the downside of having your predecessor rubbed out, having to deal with disloyal _holdovers_.

" _Ergh_ …You know what? You're _dismissed_. Pack your stuff and **_GET OUT!_** _"_ I snap, massaging my temples. I notice Gideon standing idly by the sitting room entrance, so I motion him inside. " _Gideon_ , please see to it that _MY staffers_ are recalled to the mansion _as soon as possible_. Maybe then I'll have people who _know_ what they're doing…"

Nodding, my Chief of Staff quietly orders a number of aides around, herding them out the office while giving a wide berth to the Secretary I berated, watching as she bolts out the room on the verge of tears.

"I have the final draft of your State of the Nation speech ready for you to read over." He says nonchalantly, taking a seat on the sofa opposite of me.

"Splendid." I clap into the air, summoning my mutated Hyenas as I take a seat on my rocking chair. "Mars, Juniper, come to _mommy_!"

Their 'whooping' resonating throughout the room, my furry friends slink into the office from the sitting room. Gifts from the leader of South West Africa, these pair of striped hyenas were then genetically modified with heightened neural activity and other perks that make muttations so _delightful_. To tell the two apart, _Mars_ the male has the top of his mane styled into a little quiff while his mate _Juniper_ sports bangs over her eye. Not to mention the stylish bow and floral collars I've gifted the both of them.

Gideon as always appears unnerved around my munchkins, frowning as I kiss Mars' snout. "Why not just get a _dog_?"

"Now, now Gideon… where's the fun in _that_?" I smile, motioning for the tablet. Handing the device to me, I proceed to go over the speech I will deliver following President Kane's burial in the national cemetery alongside all the other leaders that have came before him. I smile to myself, for the beginning of the speech was very well done…Unity, progress, service to one's nation like Kane always prattled on about…

Wait. _What's this?_

I focus in on a section of speech and the phrases that were being thrown around. If I didn't have sense, this tablet would be _shattered_ into a million pieces on the floor.

"Kane is _dead._ No one _cares_ about these things anymore!" I seethe, tossing the tablet onto an empty sofa. "Those who are _smart enough_ know damn well that Kane's vision was a _pipe dream_ at best."

"And those who are too _spellbound_ without looking at the bigger picture are expecting change _regardless_ , Viondra." Gideon retorts. "So what happens when the one hundredth comes and goes, you think people are just going to _move on_ and _accept_ things the way they are?"

I frown. We beat these rabble-rousers down _twice._ With their leaders all but jailed or _culled_ off the face of this planet, we could facilitate them for a third time. "If they know what's good for them, they _will."_

Sighing deeply, my Chief of Staff adjusts his glasses while adjusting his position. "That type of mentality is what nearly made the rebels storm the _city circle_ and _dismantle_ the nation. Don't be like _Snow,_ micromanaging the nation into revolt. President Kane, with his rather naïve but good intensions, tried to alleviate the gaps President Snow created."

Gideon had a point…The effects of Snow are still evident, that being our legislative and executive procedures are _shot_ due to his paranoia. Say what you will about me, but I'm no stubborn sociopath. I'm more than willing to divide powers and opportunities to those _loyal_ to me.

"They nearly topped the nation two decades ago. _Snow knows_ where we would be if they succeeded. Why should the districts get any alleviation?" I ask with a faux cheeriness in my voice as I rub Mars' belly.

"Not all citizens outside the Capitol revolted, Viondra." Replies Gideon tersely. "As a Peacekeeper during the war, you should know this. Plenty of militias were formed and still serve until this day. Even _Careers_ from the upper districts gladly took up arms for the Capitol."

Frowning, I cross one leg over the other while adjusting the hem of my skirt. The man was right. A number of pre-quell victors fought in the war such as Serene Westenfluss and Kaiser of District 1. The cadets of respective academies in District 1 and 2 were immensely effective partisan units. "What are you getting at?"

" _Panem et Circenses_ – for the _districts_ as well as the Capitol," Replies Gideon, a coy smile spread across his lips. " _Listen_ …President Kane may be dead, but his ideals will live on _forever_. Take them on as _your own._ For the country to survive within the upcoming months let alone _two years,_ the citizens in the districts can't be looked upon as simple _serfs_ anymore. With a little…' _red meat'_ tossed their way, such as what is prescribed in that transcript I gave you; it cushions the blow following Kane's removal. After this speech, the districts will be lulled into pacification knowing that they can at least _tolerate you –_ better yet, _trust you._ "

With a sigh, I find myself nodding along to his words. As much as I don't want him to be right, he _was._ Panem just lost a president – a president that was _revered_ instead of _feared_ , a president acting for 'all' citizens instead of predominantly Capitolites. With a decade in office and multiple polices set in place, the Districts shock will morph into anger once the dust settles.

Besides…What would a couple more fancy automobiles, shopping centres and disposable income change? _Wait_ , what did he say about _removal_?

"I don't follow?" I say, feigning stupidity. " _'Removal'?"_

"After decades of civil service to numerous Head Gamemakers and three Presidents'…a position doesn't just _vacate_ nor does an accident just occur _naturally_. With our _calendar years_ partly based on these Games, they are here to _stay_. Agesilaus was foolish to tamper with a third rail such as them. Unfortunately, one can only go so far to invoke change in Panem." Replies Gideon. "Simply put, I have an inkling of what transpired."

I let out a mew of surprise. "…Interesting, you and Agesilaus were quite close yet you remain with me knowing what you know. I'm surprised you haven't tendered your resignation."

With a slight frown on his lips, Gideon adjusts his seating. "I'm a _bureaucrat_ , Viondra. The shot-callers come and go, but the people making sure those shots are carried out will still be here."

"Well, I'm glad you're still carrying out those 'shots'." I smile.

He returns my notion. "You and I both know that there's always the possibility of people making a stake for power when an opening allows for it. Look at the transcript I gave you. Concepts described in that speech go as far back as before Panem. Who are we kidding; it's been nearly _one hundred years_ since the Districts have had a taste of said concepts. Democracy, freedom, life that doesn't revolve around an industry - all that's needed is the _bare minimum,_ that _red meat_ to keep them complacent."

Heeding his word, I take another glance at the speech for tomorrow. He's not lying. They, the Districts, have been mostly deprived of these concepts for _decades_ now. A simple re-introduction on my behest, and I'll be revered as the female version of _Kane_.

 _I can't wait._

* * *

 _I wonder if you got that reference pertaining to that portrait she swapped Kane for...Hehehehe._

 _Thank you for reading so far. I also see you've read up on my 'blogs'. Excuse the missing photos and other errors, it's been years since it's been updated._


	5. Spoke Too Soon

_**Five: Spoke Too Soon**_

* * *

 ** _ARE YOU "IN THE KNOW"?! – YOUR NEWS THIS WEEK, NOVEMBER 3rd, 2161_**

 ** _*A Panem Broadcasting Corporation Newsreel_** ** _MMCLXI*_**

 ** _"PANEM MOURNS AS PRESIDENT AGESILAUS KANE IS LAID TO REST"_**

 _Elderly but youthful, stern, but benevolent. These were the traits that twenty-ninth Panemian President Agesilaus Kane was known across the nation for. After the second civil war that nearly tore the nation apart, Kane was a breath of fresh air for so many, a sign of rapidly changing times ahead._

 _With an attractive wife by his side and a brood of energetic grandchildren, his time in office gave Panem a breath of fresh air, as a president like him only the eldest of us could remember. 'Uncle Kane' the media affectionately called him, due to his intimate connections with the youth he encountered during his various engagements._

 _Here now at a secondary school in Helena, District 1, the youth are nowhere to be seen. Snow, even the hoods aren't out and about causing a ruckus._

 _Scenes like this are similar throughout the nations, school campuses empty, the pupils like their parents are glued to the television in hopes of finding some kind of solace following the travesty that occurred just days ago._

 _It was in this District where President Kane was to begin his tour of the nation in anticipation of constitutional reforms. Accompanying him was his wife, Mrs. Cruella Kane, alongside Hunger Games Victor Governor Serene Westenfluss and her subordinates._

 _As you could see, it was a warm Halloween day. The sun was bright and the attitudes of the people were even brighter. It was a series of shots from various condominiums that lined the highway leading to downtown Helena that would change the path of history forever. Serene Westernfluss and Mrs. Kane were wounded while President Kane and a presidential guard were killed. The doctors of District 1 Civic Hospital would try valiantly to save Kane's life, but to no avail._

 _The confusion the nation is feeling is indescribable, even now as Governors, Victors and Foreign Dignitaries among other notable persons flood the city centre of the Capitol as President Kane is transported to the National Cemetery for burial. Ferried by a flag draped limousine, Mrs. Kane supported by various guests walk behind the casket en-route to the burial. Everything from the overcast in the sky to the faces in the crowds paint a clear picture of how the nation as a whole must feel._

 ** _So…what now do you ask?_**

 _Well, successor to President Kane, Viondra DeWynter, is set to deliver a State of the Nation speech at the National Assembly Chamber today. Daughter of Winston DeWynter – a senior minister in President Snow's cabinet once dubbed by the media as 'Minister of Everything', many are curious to see how President DeWynter will govern our nation as its thirtieth president, the fourth female to hold the position._

 _As for the assassins…? Well, we at the PBC will not give them to the time of day, barring their 6PM execution, live on all channels._

 ** _Well…now you know._**

As the limousine continues its way towards the National Assembly, I fight off the urge to lull off to sleep due to the events of the day. However, due to the clear bubbletop of this parade car I'd rather not see unflattering photos of yours truly nodding off on a magazine cover on the next day.

Little Matilda, being curious as usual, leaves the lap of our Avox Flavia and traverses the distance of the passenger cabin between us and Gideon who continues to scroll away on his tablet. Having no children of his own, the elder bureaucrat has taken kindly to Matilda ever since she was born.

"Mr. Giddie," she says with her childish mew, tugging at his shoulder while peering down at the device. "What you doing?"

"Your mother is about to give a very important speech to a _big crowd_." He replies with an affectionate grin on his mug as he glances up towards me. "It's all done. I just finished porting over the transcripts to the Secretary of Communications. Are you ready?"

"I believe so," I reply evenly, sighing. "I have a feeling this speech may ruffle feathers..."

"It may ruffle the feathers of a vocal and affluent minority," agrees Gideon, "But in the end, the momentum will most definitely be with _you_."

As I glance past the driver's cabin and windshield, I watch as the motorcade approaches the grand steps of the National Assembly Complex. Compared to iconic landmarks such as the 'Training Centre' and 'Avenue of Tributes', the National Assembly Complex is unfairly relegated to a _third wheel status_. With a large reflecting pool in the foreground, the building itself was homage to Pre-Panem's Capitol Building – sporting an expansive emerald dome.

"We're approaching the grand steps, Madam President." Calls Agent Dallaire.

"Flavia," I call, watching as the young Avox woman turns my way. "Does anything look amiss?"

Quickly she adjusts the white pillbox hat askew on my head, giving me a thumbs up. Seconds after we arrive at the landing of the complex, a party of dignitaries awaits us alongside a complement of journalists – their cameras flashing as the limousine comes to a stop. Assemblyman Shriver is the first to greet me, extending his hand for a shake as I disembark from the limousine.

"Welcome to the Assembly Complex, _Madam President._ "

Young and Charismatic, Caelius Shriver serves as the Nationalist Parties Lower House Leader. Although far from the most senior of assembly members, he serves a fresh face for the politically-inclined youth.

"My old stomping grounds…" I muse, pumping his hand alongside the others beside him. "Thank you for the welcome, Caelius. Shall we go inside?"

"Of course, Viondra," He replies. "Everyone has just about made it."

With Matilda gripping my pinky, the two of us make our way up the steps and navigate through the hallways toward the rotunda.

It was all so… _jarring_. Being Kane's reluctant second fiddle, you'd think I was used to the attention that it brought. But with all the Peacekeepers in their impeccable dress whites snapping perfect salutes, colleagues gawking at you with awe and cameras constantly flashing your way…that realization of the power you carry as president never seems to grow old.

Now I know why Snow and many of the others before me clung to power so _tightly_. And by the gods, barely a _week in_ and I'm already falling under its spell.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," barks the Assembly's Sergeant-At-Arms, "THE PRESIDENT OF PANEM!"

…I omit that last part, I've _fallen._

With that announcement, the entire assembly chamber and the galleries above roar with fervent applause. With Flavia and little Matilda making their way up to the gallery, I find myself walking down the aisle in a flurry of handshakes and gazes of admiration. Spending a decade or so in political office alongside listening in on the affairs of Father, I'm well aware that a number of these smiles are as brittle as a _twig_. Their acts of _'sucking up'_ are amusing nonetheless.

Taking my position at the podium, I take in the applauding audience at-large. On the chamber floor sat hundreds of seats, the grand majority filled by members of the Panem Nationalist Party, the ruling political party, while the Liberal-Democrats and the Independents alongside smaller factions filled a small section towards the left. In the gallery I take in multiple familiar faces. Mother, Father and my siblings, Matilda covering her ears due to the overstimulation, all the Hunger Games Victors, the upper class, Headpeacekeepers, Senators, Supreme Court Justices and dignitaries from all the Districts.

Craning my head behind me I nod to the Senate Speaker and then to the Assembly Speaker, a steely and wizened woman by the name of Hestia Pennington to call the room to order. With a nod in return, Speaker Pennington strikes the gavel prompting the room to take their seats. With a teleprompter activated and my aides giving me the go ahead, I begin my address to the nation.

 _"Assembly Speaker Pennington, Senate Speaker Celebreeze, esteemed Victors, noble Peacekeepers, Governors and guests, citizens of **Panem** \- thank you for attending and viewing this historic occasion. Unfortunately…nothing about this speech is entirely joyous, as Panem has lost an exceptionable man. President Agesilaus Kane was the leader our nation needed to shepherd us through the post war years. Alas he was cut down by a group of **anarchists** and_ **_lowlifes._** _I would have given everything **not** to be standing here today **(HA!),** as there were **so many** ventures our late president had yet to put into fruition."_

 _"That's not the only loss we've endured within this week. Agent Augustus Philips, one of the many protectors of the Capitol's officials, was also slain on the line of duty as he protected President Kane. I believe his family is here today."_ I turn to her now, _"Mrs. Philips I am truly sorry for your loss."_

The cameras pan to the bereaved Philips family as the assembly floor breaks into applause. Octavia Philips, Escort to District 11, aides her father in supporting the mother who clutches a portrait of her son in her arms as she attempts to refrain from breaking down all over again.

 _"I think I speak for President Kane, Mrs. Kane and their son Senator Archibald Kane, when I say that he would've wanted us to remain on the path he set forth. So? Let us **continue forward**." _

I presume for keeping up appearances rather than support for Kane's policies, I was treated to another standing ovation - a _less fervent_ ovation, but a respectable one nonetheless.

 _"For over a century now, Panem has done an impeccable job of carrying on the society our ancestors have left, carrying on as the beacon of civilization, law and order. Unfortunately, in this 'house' of ours, there is many a thing that needs to be fixed. President Kane attempted, with some success, to rectify these faults - election reform, better services and the like."_

Suppressing the yearn to groan whilist ignoring the pleasant smile on Gideon's face I adjust my position and face the camera once more, for this to work it has to come across as genuine.

 _"Ladies and gentlemen, I am here today to assure you that Kane's work does not end with him. Which as of next week, I shall instruct Chief Magistrate Katherine Odin to dissolve the National Assembly and the Presidency – therefore setting an election date for sometime in 2162, starting off the decade anew with fresh leadership!"_

As expected, the room is awash in shock then applause. Guests who have come from the Districts are the first to lead the room in the ovation, followed by the more 'progressive' members on the assembly floor. The Victors clap along with skepticism on their faces. On the other hand, those who would've expected a _'good ol' girl'_ like me to just say a generic speech and carry on as normal are _perplexed_.

 _"As an independent candidate, I shall be the first to vie for re-confirmation as your 30th President of Panem. What better way to carry on our beloved president's legacy by enhancing our electoral process? Like President Kane, I genuinely believe that Panem as a whole – both Capitol and Districts – serve as the lasting tribute to the darkest days behind. As his Vice President, I shall carry on his policy of bolstering Panem's greatness. To those watching from the shores of Snow Island to District 12 – I urge the leader-minded members of your communities to throw their names into the race so we as one nation can continue to build upon the progress Agesilaus Kane began!"_

Lead by District Eleven's Paisley Linscott-Gordon, the entirety of the Victors gathered alongside their respective governors and mayors launch to their feet with rabid applause.

Casting a glance at Gideon, the older man seems to be sporting his casual smirk while applauding – admonishing me with his eyes as if telling me my concerns were unfounded. As whistles could be heard throughout the gallery, a part of me wonders if the plebians at home have been lulled as well.

Giving the room a glance once more, it seems not everyone is thrilled by my announcement. The Nationalist Party is a big tent, filled with everyone from moguls to Snow-esque micromanagers. Their discontent shows as some of the regard me with bewilderment while _barely_ applauding _at all._

I let out an airy laugh _– they're fools, **all** of them. _Folding my hands on the podium, I continue to relish in their impetuous applause. While they continue to focus on the past and regard everyone below them as _savages_ , I'll just give the commoners the 'red meat' – the _bare minimum_ they've been clamoring for _decades_. With them hailing me as some sort of… _'Benevolent Dictator'_ , I'll retain power whilst my detractors _flounder_.

It seems Gideon was _right_ ; the old saying is as true as can be… _Panem et Circenses._

 _…_

"Hear this Gideon, fresh off the press from the intelligence agency!" Activating my communicuff, I scroll to the latest message I've received. " _Apparently_ this was spoken from a regular at a local tavern in District 11 after hearing my address _. Ahem … 'Well y'all, I guess we don' need to sharpen no pitchforks anymore!_ ' _HA!_ If I coerced District _Eleven_ of all places, I could win this election with my hands tied behind my back!"

Things seem to have fallen back to normal following my address to the nation last week. Withstanding some protests and homegrown vigils throughout the Districts, school attendance appears to be back to normal as well as worker productivity.

"Like I said last week…" replies Gideon, lounging on my sofa while sipping his drink. "A little red meat is all they need. Although with Senator Kaplan Parr entering the race, he may take a chunk out of your potential base with the city's more _elite_ citizens."

I nod evenly. "Don't forget Major-General Quinton Draper. I've never seen a Capitol so _militaristic_ as him. Parr is just vexed that executives like him won't have a monopoly on the nation's industries anymore. Nonetheless, if current trends tell me anything, his kind is a _dying_ breed."

Just this morning following my meeting with Panem's top judge regarding the commencing of the year-long campaign for both the presidency and national assembly, Senator Kaplan Parr decided to throw his hat into the race. Although were cut from the same posh cloth of high society, at least _I_ have a realistic view of how the nation should move forward post Mockingjay-Rebellion. Parr, with his affinity for Snow-era policies would just cast the nation into _yet another_ rebellion not to mention Major-General Draper, whose disdain for anyone outside Capitol City would just add _more_ fuel to the flames.

Quickly, I make my way over to my desk as the intercom emits a chime.

"Yes Antonia?"

" _Madam President?"_ trills my personal secretary, _"Director Farrow of the District Intelligence Agency is here to see you alongside Minister Belliard of Districts' Affairs."_

"Very well, Antonia. Let them in!"

A Praetorian Guard opens the door to reveal a rigid silver-haired man in a business suit alongside Aristella Belliard. Greeting Gideon, he turns to me now with a suave smile on his lips. "I never had a chance to say congratulations on your appointment to the presidency, Madam." He begins, planting a kiss on my hand. "I know for certain you'll lick Parr without breaking a sweat."

"Thank you for the kind words, Director." I motion for Director Farrow to take a seat on one of the sofas nearby. "I sure hope you have more intelligence for me?"

Farrow's smile doesn't leave his lips as the four of us get comfortable. "But of course, Madam President. The following communiqué comes from District 3 Escort Doris McKenzie's party over the weekend."

"The party with the _Victors?_ " I purr, pursing my lips as Director Farrow nods, placing a holorecorder on the coffee table.

"Mind you, they were smart enough to place a white noise machine in the room so the dialogue may be a little… _muddled_." He replies. With a nod of understanding, I motion for him to play the tape.

 _"… **'How'** …What do you mean ' **how?** ' by abolishing the Games and getting chummy with the districts, he was cutting into their bottom line."_ Grumbles a voice that sounds a lot like Everett Danton's of District 7. _"I've barely been here two years and I already know how these Capitol guys operate. I'm surprised they didn't off him sooner."_

 _"…Judging by how well regular folks have been gettin' it, they're would've been hell t'pay across the nation if they tried."_ Replies Zinnia Parsons of District 11.

 _"They did try, and **succeeded** …it serves as a perfect display to any aspiring politician….what happens….don't tow the line…." _

The static begins to drown out most of the conversation, my interest piquing when the topic shifts to that of the upcoming elections.

 _"Well…for the first time in decades, **we** finally have a say."_ Says a voice, _"Who will you be supporting?"_

 _"…Kane dead…Vice President DeWynter…Think the same?"_ replies a voice. Before we could get into the ' _meat of the coconut'_ , the recording was then flooded with white noise. Director Farrow quickly shuts off the recording as he, Gideon and Aristella look to me.

"Your thoughts, Madam President?"

Mewing in thought, I cross one leg over the other. "The Victors will be integral to attracting the vote of many demographics…Hunger Games enthusiasts…district dwellers, _Snow_ – the nation _at large_ will be looking to them for guidance. I think the four of us realize that the majority of them will be more inclined to preserve themselves than to outwardly endorse anyone."

"You're quite right, Viondra." Gideon replies. "I assume that this election will be anything but smooth. I also imagine that many of the Victors would fear backlash if the opposite candidate were to assume the presidency."

"Besides," adds Aristella, "Many affluent citizens within the Districts owe their capital to their respective industries among other tertiary businesses. A Nationalist Party victory assures that their statuses remain the same."

I shrug, motioning for an Avox to serve us drinks and thank her when she returns and serves us. The _'first among equals'_ within the Districts from the Governors, mid-level executives, to the criminal shot-callers - are in my back pocket. Nonetheless, I don't believe the Victors will cause any hindrance to my efforts. During my tenure, I've gotten acquainted with _many_ of them. The more I sit here and sip my drink, the more I begin to weigh the conversation the Victors engaged in. Who _will_ they support, if anyone? Ever the philanthropists, a Victor could dress like a vegetable and the grand majority of the city would follow his or her example…Car commercials, clothing lines, fan clubs – half the market is generated by the opinions of the lucky few.

…If I could perhaps ' _persuade'_ a dozen of them to join my camp, it would make securing my presidency all the more easier.

Our eyes dart to the office entrance as Antonia barges through. Again, her mousy appearance is amplified as she clings to the doorframe, her face flush with anxiety while her knee wobbles. "Erm, Madam President!?"

Exchanging glances with my subordinates, I answer the young woman. "Yes, Miss Lockpetal…?"

"There's something you _really_ need to see!" with that, my personal secretary switches on the holovision on the far side of the room. I move to drink from my chalice whilst she does so.

…However, I nearly shatter the glass as the headline flashes in front of my vision.

 ** _"Archibald Kane, son of slain President Kane, announces run for office!"_**


	6. Staging Grounds

_**Excuse my tardiness! I was a litttle bit busy this past week or two. Consider this...filler. The next updates should be quicker..to those who follow along.**_

* * *

 _ **Six: Staging Grounds**_

* * *

Only the most _elite_ of the Capitol's citizens are inducted into the 'DeWynter Club' - the Kennedy's and relatives…The Rothschild's, Hilton's, Soros, Gates, Musk's and many more have a stake in our gatherings.

In the days of my ancestors, they took on the acclaimed Shakespearian line ' _Weaving Spiders Come Not Here'_ as a motto – meaning one's business should be left _outside_ of the club's confines. _Not here._ Many dealings are brokered in the DeWynter Club, such as _right now_ given the recent events that transpired and _are_ transpiring.

…

We're in the lounge hall now, helping ourselves to a catered brunch a little ways away from my family estate. My third eldest sibling, Armitage, projects our anger perfectly by tossing his tumbler, nearly shattering the holoscreen in front of him and prompting half the room to glance over in confusion.

"You'd think he would've made like Haymitch Abernathy and _drank_ himself to disrepair by now." He seethes while angrily biting into a biscuit.

"Yes, it seems that Archibald Kane has his father's ability to endure the toughest of slights…" muses Father, sipping his tea.

"What do the polls say, if any?"

"From what I hear, most people outside the Capitol are _unsure_. _Inside_ , well Viondra seems to have a growing amount of support." Replies Father.

"After President Kane, you think he would've gotten the message, _no_?!" Armitage retorts, slamming his fist on the table. I quickly move to save my orange juice from spill, as do others with their refreshments.

"Not only is it a _disaster_ to let those low IQ, reactionary District-dwellers _vote_ , but to have _him_ on the ballot will only make things worse-"

"Armitage _shut your Gob!"_ hisses Father, "Not _everyone_ can be trustworthy in here, and the _last_ thing we want are the Districts confirming what they _already_ know about us."

Father quiets as an Avox moves to fill his cup. His eyes never leaving the young man, Father responds with a kind incline of the head.

"Thank you kindly, Avox… as I was saying, Archibald is at quite the disadvantage, seeing that one could argue Viondra's leanings are in line with Kane's – being his Vice President and all. _In fact_ I would wager that many following her speech see her as a successor to Kane _himself_."

As Armitage, Father and the other guests around the table turn towards me I offer them a slight shrug.

"I'll be honest...His announcement threw me off guard." I say nonchalantly, sipping my orange juice. "In general, besides the Capitol, he and I alongside the other candidates are essentially _aliens_ to the population at large. Well, _they_ are, not _me._ I will allow my connections with the bureaucracy and its affiliates to do the work _for me_."

"Speaking of ' _bureaucracy'_ ," begins Plato Musk, President of _Capitol Electronics_ , "As much as I've been _yearning_ for a President like you, what does a DeWynter re-affirmation look like for Capitol Electronics and other state-owned enterprises?"

Leaning back in my chair I begin to twiddle my thumbs, all the while my lips continue to simmer. " _Well_ , consider the worker's union trials _discontinued_. The Nationalist Party will begin its own worker's union to further the Capitol's control over the lower class." I gesture to the other Presidents and CEO's of Panem's state-run corporations.

"As long as you all continue to show your fealty…I don't see why I can't _lessen_ government regulations, allowing you to operate as you see fit to the betterment of the nation."

"What of President Kane's executive order to put term limits on civil servants?" asks Augustus Rothschild, Governor of the Federal Bank of Panem. "According to his law, I'm due for mandatory resignation by this time next year…as are a few others."

The others around the table nod in agreement, leaning in with inquisitive looks as I respond with yet another shrug.

" _'Term limits'_ , I've never heard of such a thing? From what I recall… _fealty_ and _competence_ is all one needs to ensure an everlasting career." I chirp. "All I need from you all is your support by _any_ means necessary to ensure my election. With that, I assume that you are all in my corner for '62?"

The table is awash with nods and murmurs of approval. Glancing over towards my father, I couldn't help but return the grin he sends my way.

" _See_ , what did I say, boys?" Father chuckles, clapping the back of Augustus, "Like father like daughter, us DeWynters _look after_ our friends."

…

I've seen Rafaela Novia transition from an insolent tribute to a prestigious victor in her own right. Now twenty years of age, the Snow Islander stands as one of the wealthiest victors to have _ever lived_ …no thanks to my ' _investments'_ in the young lady.

As Rafaela is let into my office, I immediately draw her into a paternal embrace. With every oft chance we find ourselves in this position, I find that the young orphan reciprocates the notion tenfold.

" _Rafaela_ , it's _so nice_ to see you once more." I greet.

"Congratulations on the new title, Senorita DeWynter." She chimes, releasing from our embrace.

Motioning towards a sofa, I cluck my tongue and waggle a finger. " _Rafaela_ , you're akin to an older daughter I never had. The _protégé_ that's now the _master_ …how many times do I have to remind you about unnecessary honorifics?"

" _Si, si,_ I _know_ …" Rafaela replies bashfully, taking a seat on a sofa. "It's just that owe you _so much_ since the Ninety-Fifth. An honorific is _the least_ I can do to repay you."

"Five years ago you were but a go-getting street urchin," I reply, tilting her head by the chin and caressing her platinum blonde bob. "Now look at you, a young woman at the pinnacle of our nation's society – a _beacon_. You have repaid me a _million_ times over, my dear."

I join her now, sitting across from her on the opposite sofa. "I take it you know why I summoned you?"

With her eyes trained on me, Rafaela's rose-tinted circular eyeglasses glisten as she inclines her head. "You wanted to speak to me about the elections coming up…and my role in them as a national figure."

With a gentle nod of the head and a light smirk on my lips, I cross one leg over the other. "It seems that role of 'Victor' is evolving, my dear. In the coming months, many in the Capitol and even Snow Island will look to you for _your_ opinion on the matter."

She bristles at ' _your opinion', frowning_ as she adjusts her glasses. "With respect, Senorita…I've taken enough schooling to understand what happens when Victors voice or participate in political issues."

I nod. "I understand wholeheartedly your apprehension, my dear. Besides the position of district mayor –now _governor,_ the nation hasn't held an election in _decades_. Quite frankly, I'm unsure on how this election will conclude given the … _'gluttonous'_ outlook us Capitol's have on power. Not to mention the lack of civic participation on a national level. However, maybe in the confines of a _private_ setting, your endorsement would do me many favors."

"A _'private setting'..._?" repeats Rafaela.

"Many a Capitolite, both elite and commoner, frequent Snow Island constantly, you know this." I reply, lighting a cigarette and placing it in my holding stick. "When in conversation with them, I'm sure as they value your opinion as they would proclamation. Tell them what a DeWynter victory would mean for them and Panem as a whole - _stable_ leadership, a _secure_ nation, a _prosperous_ tomorrow…"

Rafaela ponders this for a minute or so, only to crack a small smile and shrug. "Well, if your speech on Friday wasn't enough, I'm sure a kind word from yours truly would put them over the edge."

With my cigarette holder in my mouth I smirk, taking a drag and blowing the excess through the side of my lips. "That's all I require, a ' _kind word_ ' to encourage the masses of the only _proper_ choice this upcoming election."

Sashaying to the nearest window, I stop and peer out towards the traffic and skyscrapers beyond.

"May I… _hablar sinceramente_ – speak openly with you?"

I crane my head towards the youth, gazing at her from the side of my eye. "Please darling, go right ahead. _I'm all ears_."

"Capitol's aren't the only people you need to encourage." She says as her voice becomes much more assertive and terse as I know it to be. "I know that the Hunger Games are what you guys live and breathe…but if you _really_ wanna win this thing without destroying the country in the process, it's the _common folk_ you need to worry about."

I raise an eyebrow in slight confusion. "The _'common folk'_?"

Rafaela nods. "Isla Nieve may be a paradise to you Capitols, but once you leave the resort grounds things are anything _but_. People are _luchando – struggling_ , Senorita DeWynter. And I doubt many of the other districts are doing better."

Deciphering her words, I purse my lips in thought. Of course I would have to follow through with Kane's policy of benevolence…as much as the old man was revered outside the Capitol, his work was just barely getting pushed through. Like what Gideon said about 'red meat', my capital – both political _and_ social, can make more headwinds than Kane _ever could._ … With the _'common folk'_ alongside the Hunger Games to worry about, part of me wonders why I didn't just seize power, _regardless_ of the backlash.

Then again, sometimes one has to work for the goals they yearn to attain.

…

From a rather _bleak_ November following the events on Halloween, Panem now jumps into a rather upbeat December. Well, as upbeat as things _could be_ outside the Capitol and the upper districts. With the Ninety-Eighth Hunger Games out of mind until the Victory Tour this next January, snow blankets the nation as wreathes and festive lighting decorate buildings here in the Capitol and across the country.

Of course Christmas is celebrated as per the norm – but only at its _basic_ level, with Saint Nick and his reindeer retaining their starring roles. Besides a minority of people throughout Panem who cling to the religion of the old world, I doubt anyone _really_ knows 'he true _'reason for the season'._

Other than that, the election lays dormant – until _next year_ of course. Politics seems to be a newly found interest across the nation as polls within the Capitol say that Archibald and I are in a dead heat, with Senator Kaplan Parr trailing behind. With most of my aides and staffers gone for the winter break, I'm left with a specialized crew to finalize my battle plan to _retain_ the presidency.

Over the cover of ' _Happy Holidays'_ playing on my credenza my ears perk up as Gideon gently raps at the side of the office entryway, supported by Antonia and my Secretary of Communications Celine Manafort. With a data pad in his hand and a platter with what I assume is cocoa in Antonia's, I quickly take my attention off the winter wonderland beyond my window and motion for them to take a seat.

"Any plans for the holidays, Gideon?" I inquire, graciously accepting the mug of cocoa from Antonia.

"I plan to join some fellow alumni in Isla Nieve next week." He replies, gesturing towards the window. "As much as I enjoy the snow, I could use a little sunshine."

"What about yourself, Celine?"

"Going to my families lodge in the Outer Blocks for a get together."

"And you, Antonia?"

"Oh _nothing_ , Madam President," She says, blushing whilst adjusting her cat-eyes, "Just a typical get together with family. It wouldn't be the holidays without _snow_ to accompany it."

"Ah, like you Antonia I'm a stickler for the season, very mystical not to mention _cozy_." I say. "So, what have you got for me?"

Gideon punches a few commands into his data pad. A chime from my communicuff confirms the transferring of information. "After hashing out numerous phone calls, your itinerary for the next couple of months is set."

I nod along as I read over the scheduled events. An interview with the _Panem Broadcasting Corporation_ commemorating the defeat of the rebel forces in District 2…alongside numerous tourings, speeches and town halls.

"The closer we get to these elections, the more I wonder how the districts will react to them…given our unique _'social fabric'_."

"I _agree_ , Mr. Montresor." I reply, "Speaking of, Ms. Manafort, you've sent out the gag order _discreetly_ I assume?"

"Of course Madam President, I doubt the districts would be gung-ho about elections if the Games were put on a pedestal as per usual."

"-Which is why I want the Ninety-Ninth Hunger Games to be the most _generic_ Hunger Games to have ever transpired. The least we could do to cushion the possible backlash is to stifle the splurging the media indulges in."

Gideon raises an eyebrow. "No cherry-picking the relatives of rebels or other dissidents?"

I shake my head. " _No riggings._ The _last_ thing we need is a political stunt. Just a by-the-book reaping and be done with it. The Ninety-Ninth Hunger Games are to be like the _Forty-Ninth_ are to the _Fiftieth_."

A mute Games in which we ship off twenty-six Plain Janes would be most beneficial. However, given the recent bombshell delivered by the son of my slain predecessor, something tells me Archibald will continue the work his father stubbornly attempted to see through.

…

After spending the good portion of two months hobnobbing with Panem's elite, I've decided to omit from hosting a holiday ball this 24th, opting for the usual New Year's bash. Besides, we DeWynter's barely get to see one another throughout the year.

…And _yes_ , even someone such as _me_ understands the importance of family.

With Christmas music playing gently from the nearby credenza, my friends and family amiably chat amongst themselves. Reg and Vivian spike the punch to high heaven with a concoction thought up way back when, Raymond blushes like a schoolgirl as Father and Armitage sings his praises to a female suitor, Victoria listens in on Violet's swollen stomach in an attempt to hear the rumblings of our unborn nephew.

As for myself I watch on with Mother as Matilda, with the assistance of our avox Flavia, continues to hook ornaments onto the fireplace garland in an intricate, colour-coded pattern only someone like _her_ could come up with. Be it with her dolls or accessories on her vanity, Snow have mercy on your soul if you _dare_ sully her patterns.

"That's erm…quite the pattern you got going there little Mattie!" calls Mother, her face scrounged in perplexity.

"It's gotta look good for Santa, Nana!" replies Matilda in a sing-songy tone. "

Well darling, you're off to a good start!" Mother croons, sighing whilst keeping her eyes on the young child. "What a _bright_ yet _peculiar_ grandchild I have."

I nod along, downing a tumbler of juice. "Sometimes I wonder what her place in our family will be when she comes of age."

"Speaking of her place in the family…I see the media has been quite enamored with little Mattie as of late?"

"Oh yes, her little number she wore at the State of the Nation speech was sold out by the following Monday…as if a _slain president_ didn't hamper the people's mood to shop."

"Thankfully they aren't _too_ enamored…" replies Mother, pointing towards the parlor room entrance. My Father, brothers and colleagues quickly meet and greet my Justice Minister, clapping one another on the back and exchanging hearty chuckles. Upon noticing us, an impish smile spreads across his lips as he captures Mother's hand and plants a kiss on top of it, only to switch to my cheek. "

Mrs. DeWynter… _Viondra_." He purrs, his smile growing as he spots the unamused look I shoot at him.

"Minister Rose, fancy having you attend. You would think you were with Drusilla and the children?"

"You know me, Mrs. DeWynter," Antonius replies, pivoting backward with his hands playfully splayed outward. "I'm _quite_ the social butterfly."

Flavia, knowing the relation between Matilda and her father, allows the younger girl to rush into Antonius' open arms. I can't help but grin as my paramour spins our daughter around as she giggles, bopping her nose once as she secures an arm around his neck.

"Hello hello Matilda! How's my little troublemaker doing?"

"Hello Mwister Rose! I'm OK!"

"Your uncle Antonius got you a nice little Christmas present!" placing her on the ground, he gestures towards one of our avoxed Servants who wheels in a rather extravagant box with a fancy bow to boot. As soon as Matilda lays eyes on the present, Antonius scoops the little lady off her feet before she could lunge.

"No, no, no! Not until Christmas morning, little lady."

Mother watches all this with an inquisitive glint in her eye. "The resemblance between them is striking. I'm surprised the tabloids haven't gotten to work…"

"That's what big capital and cheap friends are for, Mother." I retort while scowling at the way those words rolled off her lips. "What's it to _you_?"

"I would've thought that you would find a more… _stable_ relationship? Now that you're president, one's image is everything."

I let out an airy guffaw. Hailing from such an elite family within the Capitol, Mother comes off as quite naïve. At the upper echelons, it is rare to find a relationship forged out of ' _love'_. To amass one's stakes in various sectors, parings are often arranged out of convenience.

"With respect Mother, since when are relationships for people such as you and I ' _stable'_? If I recall, _Father_ was quite intrepid beck in his cabinet days…as were _you_."

"Regardless of our ills, we always put up a good front at the end of the day." She retorts, ignoring my jab altogether.

"…And like I always say, I'd prefer a life of indulgence than to be someone's _prop –_ pretending everything's perfect when it _obviously_ isn't."

Before she could answer, the audible ringing of an object against glass resonates through the room. It was Father of course, motioning everyone over to the dining room table where Avoxes begin to pour champagne in multiple chalices.

" _Good evening_ everyone, thank you all for attending our little holiday get-together!" he beams proudly, glancing around the room as family and select friends alike make their way towards the circle that was beginning to form.

It was time for a DeWynter family tradition, the tasting of ancient spirits from _way before_ Panem's inception. Father says the plethora of casks can be traced from a great uncle of ours, a winemaker, who evacuated the nuclear winter that gripped what _was_ Central Canada.

"It's been quite a year, wouldn't you all agree? Our various ventures throughout the nation continue to flourish…my _dearest Violet_ prepares to welcome a new grandson into the family-" he gestures to me now, roping a gentle arm around my waist. "- and my eldest daughter Viondra heads the highest office in the land. This family is at the pinnacle of success, with not much else to yearn for."

Caressing Father's shoulder, I offer him a gentle smile. "Things aren't so cut and dry, Father. We still have an election to win next year and Archibald will prove difficult."

"Not to worry, sister," begins my younger sister Victoria, "Kane doesn't have a family of _action_ to back him up."

"Vicky is right," pipes up Raymond. "This election is a family affair, and every DeWynter from the beginning of time knows that once we want something, we _get_ it."

Father lets out a hearty chuckle, his eyes roaming each and every one of his progeny. He turns to Mother now, "We've raised an exceptional bunch, haven't we Margaret?"

Mother smirks, her chin lifted with arrogance. "I think the same thing _every day_ , Winston."

In silence, Father gestures to the chalices that sit on the mahogany table. Each of us gingerly take a glass with the exception of Violet, who giggles as an Avox pours a glass of sparkling fruit juice for her instead. We raise our glasses into the air.

" _Cheers_ , to the DeWynter family!" boasts Father. "After decades of contributing to the upbringing of this nation, it's _our_ time now.


	7. Recollections

_**Five: Recollections**_

* * *

 _"…And with that, Panem will continue to prosper today, tomorrow and forever. Thank you."_

As I finish reciting my speech, I barely notice Armitage and Antonia in the background of my bathroom mirror. Leaning against the doorframe, my brother regards me with a knowing smirk whilst my secretary looks on with supposed awe.

" _What_ ," I scoff incredulously, turning to meet their gazes. "Was the speech _that_ moving?"

Armitage returns my scoff, " _'Moving'_? You know damn well that speech was _beyond moving._ You'll do amazing at the legion hall today, Viondra, I swear it." He turns to Antonia now, "Antonia, were you affected by the war in anyway?"

Antonia looks ready to gush in adulation. "And _then some_ ma'am. And _yes_ actually, my father was a peacekeeper. He met my mother during the defense of the Capitol…like many other young Capitolites my age." She raises two fur stoles toward me, one white, and one brown.

"May I ask which stole you're wearing today, Madam President?"

I tap my chin, turning back to the mirror to look over my navy blue greatcoat. Armitage persisted that I wear my old dress uniform, seeing as I'm Commander-in-Chief of the Peacekeeping Forces. However, I declined, citing that a more 'conservative approach' was needed. I needed to blend in with the 'Common Folk' after all.

I nod towards the brown one. "The grizzly bearskin, please and thank you. It would match perfectly with the coat."

Nodding, Antonia places the stole on the foot of my bed. Armitage retrieves my medal display case.

"You know…" he begins, fastening my commendations onto my chest, finishing off with the Medal of Honor over my neck. "Its days like _these_ when the thought of Richard never seems to go away.

We're in the middle of February now, the 98th Victory Tour having concluded a week ago. The tour was mostly overshadowed by the fact that this February marks the anniversary of the recapture of District 13 and the end of the Second Rebellion. Of course, with countless peacekeeper and loyalist lives lost in order to achieve victory, the Capitol has set aside February as a month of remembrance to all peacekeepers who have served in the past, present and future. I am set to be a keynote speaker at the remembrance ceremony in District 2 where the majority of fallen peacekeepers are laid to rest – like my brother Richard.

Being the eldest of us, Richard DeWynter was the apple of our father's eye. Richard joining the air force was just another decoration to set him apart from the competition when it came time to join the political arena.

…Everything between he and I was competition. It was only natural I jumped in after him.

…

 _In my pristine dress whites I stand at attention, my equally pearly white teeth are bared for the world to see knowing that after **four long years** of grueling studies, I've finally made it. _

_Second Lieutenant Viondra DeWynter…sounds like music to my ears._

 _"Class of 2141…DIS-MISSED!"_

 _With cheers erupting from our throats, I alongside my fellow graduates toss our peaked caps into the air with jubilation. With the Peacekeeper Forces Hymn bellowing in the background, we kiss, hug, and cry with elation. After a brief moment with my classmates, Mother, Father and the rest of the DeWynter clan swarm me like a mutt to an open wound._

 _"Congratulations, Viondra, you did it!" chirps Vivian as she embraces me. "This totally makes up for Marvel Quaid's death…"_

 _Reginald lets out a snort. "Hopefully Clove and Cato will stick it to Fire Girl once and for all."_

 _I frown. " **What** , they lost **Marvel** now?!" _

_Father, waves his hand dismissively. "Enough about that, District Twelve will be out before you know it. Today, we celebrate you darling and what you've achieved. Your mother and I couldn't be prouder."_

 _"It's about time you've got your golden bar, Vi," Sneers a familiar voice, "I thought I would've made full-bird before you've finished!"_

 _As I turn around to meet the mocking boy, I can't help but jump into the arms of my brother Richard. He looked like a true flyboy, brown leather jacket, aviators and greased hair to boot._

 _"Dick, you've made it!" I cry, wiping a stray tear from my face. I swat his hand away as he begins to playfully massage my neck._

 _"But of course! What type of brother would I be if I didn't show my face, hm?" he responds, draping his arm around my shoulders. "What's your MOS?"_

 _"Forty-Two Lima." I mutter - Administrative Specialist. I would've chosen armored or infantry, unlike most girls who enlist I've done quite well physicality wise. Unfortunately Father wouldn't have it, citing 'concern for my safety'…ironic but true. At least I'll be stationed within the Capitol, working at the National Defence headquarters in the heart of the Government Quarter – right where all the political action will be. If I play my cards right, I could be an attaché to the Presidential Mansion… or even an aide to the president **themselves**._

 _"Hehehe, so you're a **pogue** then," he snorts, guffawing even harder as I jab him in the rib. "I couldn't imagine you lugging a rifle or beating some rebellious schleb with a baton. Thinking about it now makes me wanna die of laughter!" _

_"Yeah whatever, Dick," I retort, rolling my eyes. I nod off towards Father, who corrals the rest of the family into a limousine. "You're coming to dinner this evening right?"_

 _It's as If his playful attitude was snuffed out like a flame. Richard becomes despondent, taking off his aviators before nodding sadly. "Thank Panem I am."_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I'm being shipped out, Sis. To the border of District Eight to be specific," Richard replies with an exhale. "A precautionary measure, really. The word has it that District 11 is going ape over the death of their female tribute, Rue."_

 _My heart sinks at his words. "Oh…"_

 _My chin is instantly lifted by my elder brother. His trademark smirk is back on his face as he playfully scrounges my cheeks. "Don't be blue, Vi. I doubt I'll have to throttle some rebs anytime soon. It's all just for show! Even if it does come to blows, it'll be easy! Just like the simulations."_

…

District 2 is a lot different from how I remember it. The infrastructure wasn't riddled with scorch marks or reduced to flaming rubble, nor did bodies of fallen rebel hordes litter the streets. Its administrative centre was a quaint city, seeing rapid urban growth since the Second Rebellion with 'The Nut' dominating its skyline.

You don't need to attend your high school history classes to know the people of Two are fervent in their support of the Capitol. The unit I was _transferred_ to was based here. Gideon and my staff say that the support for me in this District is through the roof because of my service. I wasn't expecting _this much_ fervency, however.

Fitting my ushanka onto my head, I'm nearly taken aback at the amount of cheers and applause hurled my way. The Peacekeepers and agents in my protective detail keep the crowds at bay just barely as my entourage and I step onto the city streets. With all the district officials at the cemetery, I am greeted by the whole of District Two's victors. Cassius Romano, Griffin Naysmith stand by as I'm greeted by Zenobia Rivendell. Just like Rafaela, Ms. Rivendell has served as a valuable asset throughout the years. Apart from the Linscott-Gordon siblings of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, Zenobia is the second most senior victor following the Second Rebellion.

"Welcome to District Two, Madam President." She greets, as we swap cheeks for kisses.

I glance around, smiling and waving to my adoring public. "I feel extremely welcome, thank you."

Gideon claims that Two without a doubt will be in my corner come this December, thus securing a plethora of Nationalist Party seats in the Assembly as well. Looking around as I drive towards the first event of the day, it's hard to dispel that notion. Panemian flags and portraits of a long dead President Snow still hang proudly in storefronts.

The outliers call them 'lapdogs' yet wonder why things never seem to improve.

"So," I start as I begin waving towards the public. "We all know Two knows their place in regards to this upcoming election. The only query that remains is what I can do to help…' _solidify'_ my base."

" _Well_ , the Academy would genuinely appreciate if our building permits were taken out of limbo." Replies Zenobia while copying my knowing-yet-playful tone, "Unfortunately, the late President Kane wasn't fond of our 'Career' program, and I doubt his son will be either."

"But of course, Miss Rivendell. May I ask what this permit is for?"

"Why, an extra wing for our orphan program." She trills in response. "How efficient would it be if the Academy could take wayward children and morph them into upstanding boys and girls in _white?"_

I place a gloved hand on her thigh. "What a _splendid_ idea. What type of president would I be if I were to deny such a genuine request?"

…

The Field of Heroes serves as an eternal epilogue to the founding peoples of Panem, following their relocation to Two after the disasters that rocked this continent. Statesmen who kept our nation together with their sturdy leadership and know-how, generals and their troops who maintained order as many fell to barbarism among other distinguished figures were buried here.

Row upon row of snow-capped obelisks stand at attention, and due to the diligent workings of industrious citizens, a series of walkways have been paved for easy access to the headstones. As per usual around this time of year, the memorial grounds are filled to capacity, military bands, veterans, citizens and officials alike congregating near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. If the moderate cold bothered them, it didn't show, as spectators waved flags and bands played patriotic tunes.

Our limousine comes to a halt a little ways before the central cenotaph. As Agent Dallaire aides me outside and my name is announced, I'm again treated to the privileges only a _president_ were afforded. I shake the hand of the Governor, a steely-eyed coloured woman, alongside numerous HeadPeacekeepers. Following a red carpet, I am directed onto a podium in which I am presented with a 21-gun salute and an inspection of the honor guards assembled before me.

After an opening reflection by a Peacekeeper Clergyman, I find myself being given a wreath adorned with white flowers and a ribbon with the words " _On behalf of the Government of Panem_ " written on them. And so, with wreath in hand, I lead the procession up the concrete steps towards the Tombs of the Unknown Soldiers.

The Tombs were an extravagant piece of artwork. Located on a hill with a limestone wall as a backdrop were three miniature cenotaphs – each guarded by a sentry. On the limestone wall behind the tombs was a mural. The left-hand side of the mural depicted a Pre-Panem soldier aiding a child as North America burned behind them. The middle mural showcased peacekeepers during the Dark Days, clad in masks and protective suits as they patrolled a gassed city. The third on the right hand side depicted the 'modern' generation of peacekeepers circa the Second Rebellion as they oversaw the damaged skyline of the Capitol as dawn breaks. On a plaque just before the stoic sentries it read;

 ** _"HERE LIES THREE NOBLE PEACEKEEPERS. FROM THE FALL OF NORTH AMERICA, TO THE FIRST AND SECOND REBELLIONS, BRAVE MEN AND WOMEN FROM ACROSS PANEM HAVE HEEDED THE CALL. MANY, LIKE THESE THREE, ARE KNOWN ONLY TO THE GODS."_**

With Armitage and select cabinet ministers by my side, I proceed to kneel onto the concrete floor as I lay the wreath before the cenotaphs.

My brother lets out a low whistle, his eyes slowly scanning the mural and the tombs before him. "It's all so _awe-inspiring_ …Isn't it, Sister? Looking at this makes me feel… _gluttonous_."

"It is indeed."I reply. It's probably one of the _only_ issues in this farce of an 'election campaign' that I genuinely care about.

Stepping backward and mustering all my years of peacekeeping service, I stand rigid, snapping a crisp salute towards the monument before me. One can't help but notice the rapid clicks of the press' Polaroid's.

One by one, each segment of Panem's society began to lay their wreaths. The Veterans of Panem, the Youth of Panem, the Children of Panem, so on and so forth, until one wreath is now a bountiful bouquet.

* * *

Armitage was definitely right about one thing. As Capitol citizens generally consist of two or three percent of the overall Peacekeeper Force – the grand majority of that percent being _officers_ – I'm surprised that his viewing of the memorial would bring out such a…'self aware' assessment of himself. He and a grand majority of Capitols take their… _privileges_ for granted.

I am without sin, for I too was once like the majority. In the beginning, my service to the Panem was built on nothing less than an attempt to 'one-up' Richard. With Snow in power and the Districts kept at bay, I was looking forward to a cushy desk job on reserve…until the girl from District 12 changed all of that. Here now as I walk among these headstones and monuments to our fallen peacekeepers, part of me is thankful I got to experience the crucible of war. It broadens your perspective tenfold – something that my competition _lacks._

Sure, I may be cut from the same privileged cloth as they, but I've _been_ on the ground, I've _seen_ firsthand the conditions.

"Madam President, did you hear me?"

My ears perk in confusion. " _Hmm_? I'm sorry, Lieutenant-General Turnbull, walking these grounds once more tends to make my mind wander."

The HeadPeacekeeper nods in understanding. "I was just informing you of the _Mockingjay War Memorial Wall_ were approaching. Names are constantly added to its face as some casualties are… _'harder'_ to identify than others."

With a nod, I proceed to inspect the marble wall as the cameras go wild once again. Laden with wreathes, flowers and flags below it, the slab was laden with at least a thousand or two names of the many peacekeepers who fell during the Second Rebellion and the year or two leading up to the conflict. Discarding my leather glove, my manicured fingers glide over the various names inscribed on its surface.

Pte. Dorian H. Greene… LCpl Malachi E. Pfeiffer…Lt Maximus J. Philips... MSgt Gemma E. Greenwald… Lt Caspian R. Estevez… 1stLt **_Richard M. DeWynter_**

 _Richard, Richard, Richard…You deserved **so**_ much better.

…

 _A year has passed since the arena imploded during the Third Quarter Quell. Since then, the war has kicked into fever pitch. From what I could pick up around headquarters, the war wasn't going as swimmingly as the propos have been portraying it. District 13 was apparently alive and well, hiding out in the mountains, aiding the rebels in various districts as the Capitol loses more and more ground each day._

 _I've not yet been called to arms; however, I've been under **strenuous** combat training… if that wasn't another indicator on how the war was progressing. _

_Mother has been worried sick about Dick, who was deployed to provide air support for District 8 and 11 – where the fighting is at its thickest._

 _"Good afternoon, Mister Gable."_

 _"Well good afternoon Miss Viondra," Greets our Head Butler as soon as I open the door to the family manor. "Madam DeWynter requests your presence in the family parlor **at once**." _

_With a curt nod, I hand him my parcel bag and bowler hat and race to the second wing of the mansion where my twin siblings Victoria and Raymond wave frantically at the parlor entrance._

 _"Vi, come quick!" cries Victoria while flagging me down. "The Rebels are playing another propo!"_

 _I struggle to hold back a scoff. "Another one, **again?!** " _

_I don't waste time, I follow after the twins into the parlor only to find Mother and Father and the rest of my siblings glued to the holovision set. I follow their line of sight to see Katniss Everdeen alive and well as she and her crew did battle with our bombers in what was supposedly District 8 – 'Starfighters' Richard said the names of the hoverjets were. It **seemed** as if they were winning, as the two bombers rendered the rebel ground troops into paste with each strafe. _

_…That is until Everdeen and her cousin shot the adjacent bomber out of the air, prompting it to collide into its partner, obliterating a building complex a little ways from the battlefield._

 _Armitage raises a shaky finger. "Wasn't Dick in District Eig-"_

 _" **Quiet** boy!" reprimands Father, not wanting to facilitate the possibility. Richard usually does call home around this time of day…Maybe he's flying another mission, or fighting in another sector? _

_The camera cuts to the wreckage following the skirmish, the flaming eagle roundel of the downed bomber serving as an eerie backdrop to a fuming Everdeen._

 _"I want the Rebels to know I'm alive! That I'm in District Eight, where the Capitol just bombed a hospital filled with unarmed men, women and children!" she booms, her eyes frantic with rage. "There will be NO survivors! If you THINK for ONE SECOND that the Capitol will EVER treat us fairly you are LYING to yourself! Because we know who they are and what they do-"_

 _I begin to shake my head in confusion. "…Richard **did** say that they were mounting a counterattack to dislodge rebel encampments…"_

 _"But that whole region is Rebel-infested!" retorts Father. " **Surely** there are other skirmishes going o-"_

 _"-THIS is what they do and we MUST fight back! I have a message for President Snow. You can torture us, bomb us and burn our districts to the ground-" Katniss seethes, pointing to the burning seal of our nation. "But do you see that? Fire is catching, and if we burn, YOU BURN WITH US!"_

 _Her diatribe resonates throughout the parlor, prompting silence. That is until an urgent knocking could be heard from the parlor entryway._

 _"A Captain Dionysus Evans and Sergeant Slate Wilkes of the Peacekeeper Force here to see you…" announces Mister Gable, albeit shakily as he quickly makes himself and our Avoxes scarce._

 _"Minister Winston DeWynter and Mrs. Margaret DeWynter, the parents to First Lieutenant Richard DeWynter?"_

 _Mother takes a sharp intake of breath, cupping her mouth. Adjusting his tie, Father steadily rises to his feet, his breathing heavy and audible._

 _"That's us?"_

 _Captain Evans takes a breath, taking off his peaked cap. "Sir… erm, ma'am, I have bad news. The Minister of National Defense and His Excellency, President Coriolanus Snow of Panem, have asked me to express their deepest condolences-"_

 _They didn't even get to finish. Mother stormed over and slapped the Captain across the face, proclaiming him a liar all while letting out a heart-wrenching wail. Raymond and Armitage attempt to console a sobbing Victoria and Violet. Vivian just stands there in the middle of it all, her eye empty with shock._

 _As for myself, I'm already halfway down the hall, storming out the manor and into a car. From there I made my way back to headquarters, where I made a request to swap my desk and computer for a rifle and a set of armor._

 _…_

…Did you know that we didn't even get a _body_ to bury? Then again, it would be quite hard to recover a body from a mass of burning wreckage.

A firm hand jostles me by the shoulder. " _Viondra,"_

 _"Hmm,"_ I grunt angrily, turning towards Armitage. _"What?"_

I begin to glance around my surroundings. Gideon, Antonia and my aides, dignitaries, the press and the various spectators in my entourage look at me with a sense of bewilderment and concern. The cameras still roll regardless of my 'episode'.

 _"How long has it been, Armitage?"_ I whisper.

 _He shoots me a weak, yet knowing smile. "It's been ten minutes, Vi."_

 _"Has it?_ Ha ha," I scoff, blinking to find out that _tears_ have been falling from my eyes. "Excuse me for spending time with the only thing that remains of our brother. How _cheap…_ how _embarrassing! He **never**_ deserved this. _"_

I find myself being pulled into Armitage's embrace. Regardless of how my brain tells yells at me to retain my image by pulling away, another part of me _yearns_ for _more_ of my brother's warmth.

"She was selfish and melodramatic," Armitage spits. "Her and her rebel friends paid for their insolence tenfold. I'm sure Richard is quite pleased with the results. His sacrifice _wasn't_ in vain."

I smile, placing my hands on his chest. "I'm sure it wasn't. I _know_ it wasn't."

I accept a tissue from an aide. Mewing out a polite thank you, I turn to the others in my party.

"I'm sorry for holding up the tour. Please Lieutenant-General; continue on with your escort."

* * *

The rest of the day went off without a hitch. The various quarries, The Nut, the Corbulo Academy for Military Science, no matter where I went, hundreds upon hundreds of supporters met me. For over a century now, Two has served as an _exemplarily_ example of how a loyal Panemian _should_ be - industrious, eager to serve their Capitol and country in whatever capacity. My speeches throughout the district hit these topics to thunderous applause. As day turns to evening, I begin to prepare for my keynote speech at _Panemian Legion Hall #001._

With the war drafting hundreds of thousands of fresh peacekeepers into service, the _Panemian Legion_ has swelled in number. Consisting of dozens of legion halls throughout the nation, the veterans of the war could serve as a potent base as the election continues to heat up.

"Anything will do, an affirmation, program proposals…" Gideon rambles as we enter the impressive building and make our way towards the ballroom. Its halls were filled with photos, memorabilia and artifacts dating Panem's founding and thus the amalgamation of North America's militaries and police forces to the Peacekeeping Forces. Being a lover of history, it's hard not to stop and stare at the various trinkets that lay incased throughout the Legion Hall.

"In the direct aftermath of the war, the peacekeepers had it good for a little," he continues, "As of late, internal metrics say that basic needs such as compensation and services are lacking… _especially_ for the militiamen."

"One would think Kane was a stickler for compassion." I quip, retrieving my gloves from my clutch and slipping them on.

"You were well aware of his distrust of the military," Replies Gideon. "He thought they'd earned enough, deciding to siphon off the money and redistribute it to other projects."

"Well, something tells me my speech will dispel any notions of ungratefulness." I turn to him now, flashing my chief of staff a smile. "How do I look?"

He reciprocates my grin. "Part of me is still surprised a woman like you actually _fought."_

Jostling my head in response, I begin smoothing down my evening dress and adjusting my medals as we reach the grand entrance of the ballroom.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, the President of Panem!"

With my hand in the crook of Gideon's arm, the both of us proceed down the steps towards the crowd of partygoers. In the sea of active Peacekeepers and their loved ones, the veterans of the war are easily identifiable – with their blazers and berets adorned with medals and crests of their unit and the Panemian Legion itself. Not to mention the many mothers and fathers who bore the _Sacrifice Medal_ – a purple and black commendation denoting their kin were killed in the line of duty.

"Major _V.C DeWynter_ …as I live and breathe!"

" _Hmm_?" I turn my attention towards a bulky and grizzled man. With a well-trimmed beard, his hair slicked with traces of silver and an eye patch to boot, Sergeant First Class Gaius Quentin is a hard man to miss.

" _Gaius_!" I coo, embracing the bigger man as best I could. I plant a kiss just below his scar, which cuts from his right eyebrow, under the patch and down to his cheek.

"Don't you forget about us V.C!" calls a familiar female voice. That's _Viondra Celine…_ a common nickname amongst my unit.

" _Why_ would I forget about _my very own_ crew," I reply, flagging down Armitage who continues to hobnob with a couple of generals. "Armitage, it's about time I've introduced you to my tank crew. There's Sergeant First Class Gaius Quentin, Sergeant Boudicca Palmer and Sergeant Shane Ferguson."

Armitage is quick to shake their hands. "So _this_ is my sister's infamous crew. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

"Likewise, Armitage. On the other hand it's been far, _far_ too long DeWynter." Gaius tuts while clucking his tongue and wagging a finger my way.

"You'll have to excuse me for not reaching out." I relent, thanking a waitress as she serves me a drink. "Governance can be a… _taxing_ career at times."

"No need to apologize, _Madam President._ The Capitol _is_ a whole other world, after all." Gaius replies, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "Your presidency changes _everything,_ for _all_ of us! I followed you during the War, and I'll follow you to the polls as well."

Boudicca raises a hand. "I second that motion. I fact, I'll drink to it!"

Armitage seems impressed by the loyalty of my crew. "They seem to hold you to high esteem, Viondra."

Gaius flashes his _other_ arm towards my younger brother. Instead of flesh, there was cybernetic metal.

"When she was transferred to our unit, I thought V.C was just another Capitol – a _female_ Capitol nonetheless. She went above and beyond my expectations, saving my ass in the process."

…

 _Its times like these that make me yearn for a desk job back in the Capitol._

 _"On your feet, Sergeant!" I bark, shielding us as a nearby SJ-7 burst into flames. Gaius responds with a snarl of anguish, using his good arm to cradle the shredded stump that was his left one. Crouched low in fear of being picked off by rebel gunfire, I attempt to assess the situation._ The _convoy my unit was a part of was in ruins. Both the lead and rear vehicles were disabled, rendering us easy targets for sharpshooters and anti-materiel crews in the adjacent buildings and shops. I hug the crook of an overturned Humvee, shielding Gaius and I as a rocket explodes nearby, caking us with dust. Boudicca and Shane are nowhere to be seen._

 _It seems that the war has arrived in District 2. Within the past year and a half, all the loyalists seem to be doing is playing defense. With all the upper districts excluding Two falling to the rebel hordes, the retreat order to return to Two seems to have emboldened the rebels embedded here._

 _This is what we get for being stragglers. We could be in the Nut by now if we weren't so damned slow. They say an immense counterattack is on its way…some mid-level bureaucrat – Gideon Montresor, has a new algorithm that could surprise the rebels._

 _For now however, we need to hold Two until reinforcements arrive._

 _A Reb bursts out from one of the shop doors just meters from our position. Before he could react, he's felled from a bust of my PN-PK90. I take this window of opportunity to quickly shuffle Gaius and I into the shop from which the Rebel appeared, ignoring the shouts and bullets whizzing past my head._

 _Panting, I quickly shuffle up the stairs into the apartment detachment. Slamming the door, I quickly seat Gaius onto the nearest sofa. His caramel skin is now ashen and discolored as he bleats out labored pants of breath._

 _"Don't you worry Gaius," I breathe, scrambling for my IFAK. "You'll be fixed up in a jiffy, I assure you."_

 _Retrieving a tourniquet, I quickly bind the top portion of the Sergeants mangled arm. After binding, I administer a vial of morphling into his shoulder. As I press down on the plunger, an audible sigh of relief could be heard from the both of us._

 _Through the battle that rages outside, my ears perk at the shuffling of feet advancing up the stairway._

 _"HELLO, whose up there!?" A feminine voice barks._

 _With a sharp gasp escaping my mouth, I aim my submachine gun towards the door._

 _"We saw movement; we know people are in there! You friendly?!" She calls again, to no avail as I remain silent._

 _I decide the best course of action was a spray of fire across the wall beside the door. I relish in the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs._

 _What I wasn't expecting, however, was the return of fire. Just above my spray come two precise shots._

 _I let out a shout of agony as a bullet rips through my shoulder. The apartment door is kicked down to reveal a Rebel female, her red mockingjay armband contrasting with her civilian garb. I'm thankful its a female rather than a male. It makes killing her all the much easier._

 _I take aim and pull the trigger, only for my heart to sink as I'm met with the dead man's click._

 _She charges forward, the butt of her rifle striking me across the cheek. My submachine gun clattering out of my hands, I let out a pained shout, falling to the floor. I earn little recovery as the Rebel approaches from behind, gripping the rifle from butt to barrel as she holds it against my throat. Gasping sharply, I snake my hands between the rifle and my throat in an attempt to gain leverage._

 _In the left hand corner of my vision, Gaius is out like a candle. He'll be no help here._

 _Feeling confident with the leverage, I counter by flipping the lighter woman over my head. With her rifle discarded and a firm hand placed on her chest, I reach for my combat knife, plunging it into her shoulder blade._

 _She responds my gripping my ponytail, my vision flashing white as she launches punch after punch into my face. After the sixth fist I find myself dazed on the floor, my knife in her hands as she approaches me once more._

 _My foot catches her stomach, pumping her backward as she slams against a concrete pillar. I waste no time fumbling for my sidearm and aiming it squarely at her head._

 _I wasn't expecting however, for **her** to be pointing a revolver at **me**. _

_Our pants of fatigue filling the room, we continue to level our guns at one another for a minute or two. She's a dark skinned woman, slightly older than I. Like the rest of her band of traitors, she carries a rugged look about her – a chiseled faced, brown eyes and short dreadlocks._

 _Her look of utter hatred for me drops slightly as she dips her chin towards her wound, then nods off to my gunshot wound._

 _"…Truce?" she puffs, squinting her right eye whilst shaking off the blow. "Were both pretty banged up here. How about we 'recuperate' till evenin'. Then go our separate ways?"_

 _My eyes narrow at the insurgent. My back is towards the door, she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon._

 _"Drop your gun." I deadpan._

 _"Not until you drop yours, Cappie." She retorts._

 _I breathe out an annoyed sigh. "Empty your magazine in 3…2…1…"_

 _In unison, the Rebel empties her revolver while my clip clatters to the floor. With a sigh, I droop against the right hand side of the couch, laying my head against the arm. The traitor holsters her revolver once more, eyeing me with those muddy browns as I gaze back with my blues._

 _…_

 _Afternoon turned to evening. The initial fighting outside has ceased. The victors I'm not sure. Outside one could hear the occasional burst of fire, followed by the thump of ordinance exploding. The Rebel and I exchange nothing but hardened gazes as we patch up our respective wounds…that is, until she bursts into a fit of laughter._

 _"What's so funny?" I snap, turning my head briefly as Gaius lets out a cough._

 _"What's so funny?" she mocks, copying my accent. I opt to ignore her, choosing to inspect Gaius some more._

 _"You're somethin' else, you know that Cappie?" she says, breaking the brief pause._

 _"Why's that?" I say, checking the pulse of Gaius as he continues to loll away on the couch. He's stable, for now. The morphling seems to be doing its job. "You barely even know me?"_

 _"A Capitol Peacekeeper officer I understand…" she sniggers, shaking her head with amusement, "But a female officer, serving on the front lines? I'm surprised you ain't dead."_

 _I roll my eyes, turning my attention back towards her. "Death isn't on the agenda. I have much more to do after we win."_

 _"You - the Capitol, ' **winning'**? Shit, you got the beauty honey but not the brains – a typical Capitol through and through…." She spits, scoffing. "Hey, how does it feel to fight for a fascist, inept government? No more colourful wigs and fancy clothes once we take over."_

 _"I wonder how it'll feel when you and your family are rendered into unpersons for your insolence, roped into one Games after another for generations to come."_

 _Her features falter, but she quickly rebuilds her cocky swagger. "Keep dreaming, Cappie. That's all you've got to lose– the fucking Hunger Games. With all your privilege, you ain't got anything else to fight fo-"_

 _The bang that resonates through the apartment startled even **me –** and **I** pulled the trigger. Gaius somehow manages to keep dozing away as this transpires. _

_"I still had a round in the chamber." I say nonchalantly, shrugging as I rise to my feet._

 _She casts me an incredulous glare, grimacing in anguish as her eyes shifting to her midsection. The crimson that soaks her stomach contrasts heavily with her grey shirt. She could only watch on with shock as I stride over and relive her of her revolver._

 _"You're right for the most part. I **don't** have much to fight for, but it's altogether much more fruitful than the petty concepts you rally behind." _

_"I'm a child of money, and you know what they say about money – 'money makes the world go 'round', **influence** makes it spin even faster! The Hunger Games…well, the Games are just the cherry on top. And to be quite honest with you, I'm not a big believer in **'equal distribution'**. Rules for thee but **not** for me, I'd say." _

_Her skin is pale and clammy as she tries to muster the strength to retort. Only blood bubbles from her lips, groaning as she slumps from the pillar to the wooden floor. Her eyes don't leave me. She's in immense pain, but still alive._

 _"But…with the personal motivations aside, I suppose I could give you a more 'unifying' reason people like I and my friend over there fight."_

 _I stand up and begin sauntering towards the full clip I had discarded from my sidearm. From the window outside, I hear a commotion. Even the Reb's head cranes upward as I saunter towards the window. It was **raining white** out there – Peacekeepers from the airborne regiments landing onto the streets, a Sergeant barking orders as a platoon of them rush down the street towards the Justice Building. The gunfire begins to pick up again. _

_"Why do we serve? We serve because we believe in balance, order and good government. We serve because we love Panem and our Capitol – the very reason why we haven't fallen to barbarism or even worse – **nothingness**. If the Rebellion won, what would they bring to the table besides ineptitude and blind spitefulness?"_

 _I load the clip into my sidearm, pulling back the slide as I relish in the click that it makes. I can barely hide the impish grin that creeps onto my lips as the Reb glares at me as if I killed her mother in front of her. I level the pistol at her forehead._

 _"Since Panem's inception, time and time again 'Rebels' and 'Terrorists' have tried to tear this country apart – disregarding the better good for all our countrymen for their own selfish gain. During those incursions, men like Master Sergeant Gaius over there…and my brother, First Lieutenant Richard DeWynter, would rise up and take up their quarrel with the foe with distinction. My brother, like many of our loved ones, didn't live long enough to see our triumph. It's because of them and their sacrifices during the early stages of this war that bought us enough time to redouble our efforts, halt the rebel advance, and take the fight across the nation to the renegade District Thirteen._

…

"…Richard's victory – their victory – was _so_ close. I wish he and other fallen comrades were alive to see the national banner flying over Thirteen's highest point... But as is when Panem's security is concerned there has to be a noble few – _noble boys and girls in white_ – willing to sacrifice their lives for Capitol and country…And with that, Panem will continue to prosper _today, tomorrow and forever._ "

The applause throughout the ballroom is akin to that of an ovation in Panem's National Assembly. Among the clapping and whistling members of my former unit, Gaius offers me a mechanical thumb up. _Again_ , Gideon looks on with that infamous _knowing_ smirk on his mug.

I don't let up.

"It's veteran organizations like these that I will continue to support. I see you, mothers and fathers of sacrifice, boys and girls in white who are scarred due to their courage. I want you to know this – under a DeWynter presidency; your sacrifices will _not_ be forgotten!"

As I dismount the stage, shake hands with fellow veterans and listen to stories about how the war affected their lives, I can't help but feel ' _accomplished'_. If it is at all possible, Richard may be very well looking upon me with favor. This _is_ a Career District of course, the lower in number I go the more abrasive the people will be. If Two's could be swayed with veterans' affairs, then the others have their own vices that could _easily_ be catered to.

It seems Gideon was right about the whole ' _red meat'_ philosophy…

"You were _right_ … _Two for two_." I say, not taking my eyes off a portrait of Richard as Gideon enters the sitting car. A day has passed, and Gideon and the rest of my advisers declare to the shock of no one that the visit was a _hit_. We return back to the Capitol to plan another excursion, hoping the next one will be just as successful as this one.

"I suppose _I was."_ He responds, taking a seat opposite of me. "Now that the public as a whole has gotten a glimpse of Viondra DeWynter…I think it's time we moved to ' _solidify'_ your image."

" _'Solidify my image'_?" I repeat, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "May I ask how do we plan on doing this?"

The older man says nothing, instead sliding over his tablet, to which I read the highlighted headline.

 _ **THE CAPITOL POST - WHO'S PANEM'S PREMIER CHOICE: DeWynter, that's who!**_

* * *

Just doing a little delving into Viondra's past life. Thanks for your guys' casual reading of this! Its weird seeing how much interest my stuff garners. As long as I get consistent hints...I guess I'm doing just fine.

I'm happy to say that this is almost done. My SYOT should come in the fall sometime. I'm very excited to start my universe up again.

As for the next chapter of this? I would define it as 'streamlined', the same length as this, but longer and spanning multiple 'themes'.

Thanks for reading. Hopefully this isn't so info-dumpy as sooooooooooooorta felt it was. I think I presented it OK.


	8. Of Scheming, Paternity and Games

**_Eight: Of Scheming, Paternity and Games_**

* * *

 ** _Archibald Kane, 47,_**

 _ **Son of slain President Agesilaus Kane**_

* * *

 ** _"DECISION 2162: PANEMIANS FROM COAST TO COAST TRY TO MAKE SENSE OF IT ALL"_**

 _With the election only months away and a plethora of eager contenders - can DeWynter retain her position?_

 _It very much seems like it! Since becoming the 35th President of Panem – and one of the only four women to ever do so in our century long history – the relatively young woman fresh into her forties has hit the ground running._

 _Whether it be running as an independent candidate ( **while still caucusing as a Nationalist Party member)** or dissolving the presidential emergency powers and resuming normal elections **(which haven't occurred nationwide –only Capitol City- since the First Rebellion)** , Panemians from coast to coast are still trying to find out more about their trailblazing leader. _

_Politicians in the Capitol are iffy to speak out about the powerful socialite, whose family has dominated high profile positions within Capitol high society and governance for **decades**._ Its baffling how someone so public could be so 'out of reach' at the same time.

 _"She's incredibly thorough and fair," Says veteran Senator Julius McKnight (D2– Nat), "Like her father, Miss DeWynter will treat you right if you do the same with her."_

 _One Assemblywoman who spoke under anonymity called her a 'cutthroat who muscled and bought her way to the top'._

 _A source close to DeWynter's inner-circle, under the promise of anonymity, dispels that claim._

 _"The record speaks for itself." They say. "Whether it's her service as a tank commander during the Mockingjay War or her tenure as a senator and vice-president, her family's background is only icing on the cake."_

 _While many agree that DeWynter's track record is stellar, many of DeWynter's proponents relent that they don't know the whole story of this 'intriguing venus' and the way she operates. Many cite her 'peculiar' speech following President Kane's assassination late last year._

 _"Many of my colleagues were baffled when she made those proposals," continued Senator McKnight. "Regardless, most of us believe that her experience as Kane's subordinate makes her the most competent to lead the nation…She's certainly better than the alternatives we have running about."_

 _Where many nationalist politicians support the 'tight-leash' relationship between the Capitol and the Districts, DeWynter seems to be letting the proverbial 'pet' off._

 _In the other corner, son to slain President Kane Archibald Kane of the Liberal-Democratic Party has thrown his hat into the ring. Garnering sympathy nationwide, Nationalist Party members guffaw at the nation that Archibald has what it takes to defeat DeWynter._

 _"In all honesty his father was a naïve politician at best," says a senior Senator under anonymity. "A Liberal-Democratic agenda will do nothing but ruin Panem. Turning it into a backwater shell like the rest of the world – or what's left of it."_

 _In terms of the Capitol City polls, DeWynter leads by 40 percent, while Kane trails by 35 while Others –"_

 _"Shut it off,_ Ursula." I snap.

I let out a seething scoff at the PBC reporter as my aide deactivates the holovision. "Half these people can't buy their own _shampoo_ without a glorified killer telling them which one, how are _they_ supposed to know who's good for the nation or not?"

"It's the _PBC_ , Archie. Whatever the governing party says, they'll mimic." replies Kristoff Haversmith, a fellow Senator and trusted ally. "Besides…they're probably bought-and-paid for by DeWynter and her _daddy's_ _money_."

I can't help but roll my eyes at that witch's name. "DeWynter's just blowing smoke up people's asses. She's a _charlatan_ who doesn't give a damn about _anything or anyone_ unless her bottom line is being threatened."

"Which is why we need to keep pounding that pavement," Ursula offers, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "The last thing people in the outer districts want are a female version of Snow."

"That's the exact thing they'll get if the media keeps peddling this shit 24/7." I spit. "She **_never_** supported my father's work, and now she decides to do a 180?! Give me a fucking break…"

After Father won via Capitolite vote back in '51, following the failed Second Rebellion, the conservative wing of the government didn't want to placate any attempt of alleviating the pressure put upon the districts. Knowing that any outright aide towards the districts would result in his usurping, DeWynter was chosen as his second-in-command.

Whether it's trying to cooperate with other nations on the remnants of the world stage, or something simple as allowing the districts more self-autonomy, she was an _opponent – not a pro_ ponent _._ But alas, due to her tentacle-like grip across many facets of Panem, the truth won't be told in its fullest. Look at the Presidential Mansion NOW! If she really valued my Father's legacy, his staffers would still be working _there_ – not with _me_. Besides Gideon Montresor and a dozen others, all of them were either _dismissed_ or tendered their resignation following Father's slaying.

Sensing my anger, Ursula clears her throat. "Luckily, they haven't delved into full out attacks…"

" _Yet,"_ I'm quick to add.

Senator Haversmith raises a finger. "But we _could_ …"

Before I could retort, he pushes a dossier across the table. Casting him a weary gaze, I proceed to open the folder and delve into its contents. As my eyes shift from word to word, I find myself squirming in my seat at the implications this dossier brings forth.

I shake my head. I can't say I'm wholly surprised. I've heard rumors…. "How did you-"

"I managed to pull a few strings here and there at the Capitol Health System. With a healthy amount of sesterces, you can coerce anyone to do anything…all you need to do is say the word. The Capitol won't stop talking about it for _weeks_."

Swiping the folder out of my hands, Ursula takes a glance for herself. The look on her face tells me everything I need to know.

"…You're playing with fire-"

" _Like you said,_ Ursula, things are bound to kick up anyway." Retorts Haversmith. "It'll be most beneficial if we struck _first_. The information won't trace back to the campaign, I promise you. Multiple persons will be implicated…not just them."

Ursula frowns, tossing the dossier on the mahogany table. "I think we **_all_** know about the type of people were running up against. Archie…if your suspicions about them are true, what makes you thin-"

I raise my hand towards her, effectively quieting her. With a huff, she quickly subdues herself, knowing full well that outright speech regarding certain subjects could come back to bite us.

I know Father's death was _more_ than just an accident. Shot dead in ** _District 1_** of all places? Due to their support of the Games it seems so obvious…yet so _unlikely_. I know DeWynter and her entourage had something to do with it…but _how_ , I'm not certain.

"God forbid it, but _I think_ we all know that words aren't the _only_ things that'll be thrown once we get closer to E-Day." I say.

"So we'll release the document to the press?" asks Haversmith.

Giving Ursula's hand a gentle squeeze, I nod. "Hopefully I can beat her the old-fashioned way. If not…"

Well if not…then maybe I'll have to get down on _their_ level. Adjusting my seating as Haversmith hands off the dossier to an aide, I think back to Father's meeting with the Australians and _their_ warning about DeWynter's influence.

 _'Retain or take power by any means necessary, for your way of governance is just. More just than anything DeWynter could do.'_

 _Unfortunately_ , their overly-optimistic and dated view on democracy no longer applies to its once _bastion_ of it.

Be it DeWynter or the even more hardliner conservatives Senator Kaplan Parr and General Draper alongside the others in this race, those who are smart enough should know that the results of this election won't bode well for our respective factions.

If push comes to shove, I'll do what I must to ensure that Panem becomes free and open – ridding the Capitol of our hedonistic waste and thus the _Hunger Games_ once and for all.

But for now…I'll play things clean – showing the nation that discourse can be done freely without a totalitarian bent.

I'll finish what Father tried so desperately to start.

* * *

When Gideon mentioned ' _bolstering'_ my image…I wasn't quite expecting all this.

With an amused grin on my lips, I alongside my numerous aides sit in the dimmed dining room of the Presidential Mansion, watching the debut of one of our many campaign ads. Sung by a choir with joyful montages of yours truly amongst the youth and workers, the ad attempts – and manages – to paint the election and my campaign as a vibrant affair.

 _DeWynter now, DeWynter now – oh, more than ever DeWynter now!_

 _De-Wynter's Panem, DeWynter now!_

As the screen freezes on me kissing the puffy cheek of some infant in District 1, the lights flood the room as Gideon rises out of his seat and saunters toward the windows.

"So?" he says, clapping his hands as he playfully points toward us. "What'd you all think? After delving into the history books, the Office of Communications and I took a few… ' _creative liberties'_ from the past. I ought to commune with your brother Armitage a lot more, Viondra. He's quite the history buff."

"I liked it!" Antonia chirps, shrugging sheepishly as all eyes turn to her. "It made me feel… _hopeful_."

"The imagery was _superb_ ," chimes a male aide whose name I fail to remember. Was it Devon? _Yes_ – _Devon_. "All the images of happy citizens, the new houses and whatnot with the _'DeWynter now, DeWynter now'_ constantly being sung – if you support her now, good times are abound. The pictures support this, giving us a glimpse of Panem under DeWynter if you allow her the opportunity."

"Sure," drawls a skeptic Celine Manafort, my Secretary of Communications. "But we're not _fooling_ anyone are we, _especially_ in the districts."

With various mutters of a conceding nature, all eyes in the room turn to me. Blowing excess smoke from my cigarette, I massage the head of my pet hyena Juniper with my freehand.

"It's very… _optimistic_ , and _fun_ ," I say, rolling my hand. "On the other hand…Do you think that someone in the outer districts will fall for this?"

Sure, as we speak, Panem is undergoing fundamental change outside the Capitol. Fancy cars, well-to-do bungalows and the like were becoming more and more common. The gap between 'comfortable living with small luxuries' and 'just barely getting by' is growing – _purposefully_ too. If we were to add a certain ' _sport'_ into the equation, _well_ …

"Not everyone who lives in the districts sits in a bar and grumbles drunken obscenities about the Capitol…" says Gideon, "Their either avoxed, imprisoned, _dead_ or _halfway_ there. They've lost _two_ wars in an attempt to usurp us; I _highly doubt_ a third is likely. These elections, after decades of having _none_ – are a foreign concept…excluding a few mayoral elections in the past. They finally have the opportunity to 'vote' and have their voices heard. Even if they _are_ 'skeptic', they have no choice but to sit and learn about the candidates."

I find myself nodding along in agreement. He's right. This election serves as one big _'dry run',_ no rules apply.

"What about that ad Kane made about me? Don't you think his packs more of a punch than some _happy-go-lucky_ jingle?"

"What, _this one?_ " Gideon shuts off the lights and activates the holovision once more.

 _"Is DeWynter the 'premier' choice her supporters claim she is?"_ drawls a serious female voice in the background, aided by befitting music. The attack ad then proceeds to list off my voting record and previous comments pertaining to the late President Kane's agenda in an attempt to paint me as a wishy-washy carpetbagger. Such bills like the **_'District Governorship Act'_** and the ' ** _District Urban Development Act_** ' were named. But Archibald fails to mention that his father shoehorned those laws in via executive order, with little debate.

The ad ends with a flag in the wind, blowing which way the wind blows. _"Viondra DeWynter – whichever way the wind blows."_

Gideon shrugs. "It's too long, chocked full of big words and laws _few_ people have a full grasp on. Ask yourself, are people in the general public going to remember this? You've served by President Kane's side for _five_ years. Why didn't you move to undercut him then?"

"During the time you began explaining to me how irrelevant my senatorial record was I've already forgotten the context of that ad." I reply, earning nods of agreement from those around me.

Gideon, that knowing smirk again spread on his face, playfully taps his temple. "Message received…and _forgotten_ by the time an ad for the latest automobile comes on."

"Still," I relent, extinguishing my cigarette. "I like the concept of attacking one's opponent. Do tell me we have some of our own coming up?"

"But of course. The team and I have a few 'concepts' that should be ready to go in a number of weeks."

…

Little did I know we were going to _need_ those attack ads.

"Minister Rose, you can't just barge in like tha-"

"Sweetheart, this issue _trumps_ protocol!"

I was sitting at my desk in the Presidential Office with Armitage when Antonius barges into the room with Antonia desperately calling after him. His face was filled with a mixture of anger and anxiety, rendering my stomach into a bundle of nerves just by looking at him. Instinctively, I glance outside towards the main gate of the Mansion to see a group of reporters setting up.

"I'm sorry Madam President. I tried to inform you beforehand bu-"

Dismissing Antonia with a gentle wave, I continue to regard my significant other with worried eyes as he continues to make his way towards my desk.

"The remote, _now_." He quips with a snap of his finger.

I oblige, tossing him the gadget as he pivots towards the holo. "What's going on Antonius? The way you're acting makes it seem as if a district was just nu-"

 _"We here at Capitol TV can't exactly confirm the validity of these documents-"_

 _"But of course we can, the document bears a stamp and everything!"_

 _"…Then I suppose we can confirm that Matilda DeWynter was not brought into this word by the means we were told. According to these medical documents obtained via an anonymous source, Matilda DeWynter - daughter of President Viondra DeWynter, was fathered by current Justice Minister Antonius Rose. Matilda DeWynter's paternity wasn't the only document released to us; many other high profile toddlers were implicated as well."_

"We reached out to the Presidential Communications Office…but they have declined comment on this story for now. In other entertainment news-"

Gideon and Celine barge into the room next. With his finger raised, Gideon moves to say something but quickly clams up, instead watching the television with the same flabbergasted look as the rest of us.

…

As days go on, it gets worse. Drusilla Rose files for divorce from Antonius, adding even more fuel to the fire. My existence is spent holed up in the Presidential Mansion, dreading each time I enter the foyer connecting the Executive Residence to the East Wing _,_ only to meet the gossip-obsessed press.

It's a blessing and a _curse_ at the same time, to have a populace more obsessed with _fashion and popular culture_ rather than the business of the nation. It makes fuckery like _this_ bigger than it should be.

 _'Madam President, are these claims true!?'_

 _'Madam President, can you explain the relationship between yourself and Antonius Rose?!'_

 _'Madam President, Madam President, Madam President!?'_

It takes two resounding roars from Mars and Juniper to shut them up for good. Allowing myself a soft smile at their fear, I stride past a mousy Antonia and slip into the Presidential Office unperturbed. Armitage waits idly on one of the sofas, twiddling his thumbs as he cranes his head toward me.

"So Matilda _wasn't_ a surrogate?" Asks Armitage as I slip onto the opposite sofa.

I flick off my heels. " _Nope_ , more like a reluctant lovechild I've come to accept and love…" in Capitol high society, having a paramour on top of a normal marriage – which was usually built on _convenience_ , not love – was normal. It has been convention for media _not_ to report on the private lives of notable figures.

I suppose _money talks_ , however, and Kane and his camp have learned that.

"Well played Archibald…well played." I mutter, contemplating lighting up a cig but decide against it. " _Fucking weasel…"_

"You and Antonius Rose then…" my younger brother muses, fixing together a drink for himself and I. He hands me a chalice, which I gladly accept. "How long has that been going on…?"

"Since my days at military college….He was one of my _professors_." I reply absentmindedly, swirling my drink in my cup as I reminisce about heated trysts in isolated hallways and dorms. I guffaw as my younger brother's face flashes with shock.

"I never was the type of person to stick with those their own age – they're too _immature_ , too _inexperienced_."

"So after twenty-odd years, you guys still saw each other?" he asks, his face scrounged in confusion. "…You two never grew tired of one another?"

"On and off…" I reply while gently playing with Mars and Juniper. "In regards of being ' _tired'_ as you may already know…I like to keep my romantic options _ambiguous._ I suppose he does too."

"So…" he rumbles whilst shrugging. "What's the plan now?"

Gulping down the remainder of my drink, I throw my hands haphazardly into the air – at loss for what to do. I hate to admit it, but Kane got me _good._ Not only do I need to contend with the gossipy nature of Capitol media, but I now have to wonder about what the average plebian thinks about this fiasco. In their eyes, Viondra DeWynter was nothing less than an adulterer.

If I could be implicated in something as duplicitous as a sexual affair…then _what else_ does Viondra DeWynter do behind the scenes?

Armitage seems to get the gist of my feelings, as he sips his drink. Swallowing, he nods toward me.

"Well, erm, I say you uh… _own it_."

My manicured brows furrow in confusion. " _Own_ it?"

" _Yeah_ , they don't know the extent of your relationship. I say you uh, hold a press conference – bend the story _your_ way. If not, do a news release." He replies. " _From what I recall,_ weren't Drusilla and Antonius estranged _anyway_? The reapings are next month; _quash_ this bug so the press could move on to Games speculation. It'll be old news by the chariots."

With a slender finger, I caress my chin in thought. Perhaps Armitage is right. I was foolish enough to play into Archibald Kane's hand by sitting on this and making it a bigger issue than it already was.

I reach over towards the coffee table, pressing the intercom as it comes to life. "Antonia, assemble my communications team. I have a statement I'd like to make."

"We're working on those attack ads as I've stated previously," says Gideon now as we walk towards the Press Briefing Room. "Like I also said, the past serves as quite the treasure trove. Expect these ads to hurt – _badly_."

"I trust you got it covered, Gideon." I reply.

A male Aide opens the door to the Briefing Room, closing it as he turns to me. "Madam President, the Presidential press corps and seated and waiting."

Fighting back a wave of nausea, I sigh, collecting the data pad my Communications Secretary Celine Manafort holds as I stride towards the door and clasp its handle.

I'm a _DeWynter_ for _Panem's sake_. I won't be frazzled for confirming that I do what _half_ of the city partakes in anyway.

With a deep breath, I open the door and stride into the Briefing Room under a hail of camera clicks and cries of ' _Madam President!'_

…

Matilda's acute autism prompts the little girl to rarely deviate from her 'norms'. It's about five o'clock, so right about now Matilda would be fixated on playing Mega Bricks with Flavia. So I find it _quite surprising_ when she glances up from her building blocks and points towards the television.

"Hey Mommy, you're on the TV again!"

 _"President DeWynter finally put the controversy to rest today regarding the paternity of her daughter."_

 _"Could you discuss the nature of your relationship with Minister Rose?"_

 _"We've been good friends for about a decade now. In terms of my daughter's…'conception', it was a brief relation between us both." I say. "He and his wife were on a break at the time."_

 _"Was it true you knew him since your college days?" asks another Reporter._

 _"He taught me in one course, yes. No significant relationship between the both of us was developed at that time."_

 _"But why keep it a secret, Madam President?"_

 _I offer a slight shrug. "Because… I was perfectly okay to take care of my daughter with minimal to no support whatsoever. I thought it would be easy on the both of us if I took primary control over her upbringing."_

The camera then cuts to archival footage showcasing former Panemian presidents and _their_ supposed affairs. Apparently President Snow himself has had a few paramours throughout the years, as the reporter talks on about a son who is currently battling in the courts for acknowledgement – to the Snow family's hesitance.

"Madam President," Agent Dallaire announces as he enters the room. "Justice Minister _Antonius Rose_ is here to see you?"

"Please, let him in." I reply. Shutting off the television I instruct Flavia to leave as Antonius enters. As she takes her leave, the Avox gestures to Matilda, who has returned back to her world of playing.

I give her a reassuring wave. "No, Matilda will stay here. I will call for you when needed."

With a curtsy, Flavia leaves as Antonius strolls further into the room. As Dallaire closes the door, I smile, gesturing toward the nearby sofa. Returning my smile, Antonius follows and we both take a seat with a labored sigh. He offers me a cigarette which I gladly take, fastening it into my holder as he lights the tip.

"What a turbulent week we've had…" I drawl, exhaling the excess smoke.

"Tell me about it, m'dear…" Antonius snorts. "Luckily for you, you have extensive security. My detail could barely keep up with all the reporters ambushing me left and right. If they were assassins I would've been dead fifty times over!"

We exchange a lengthy chuckle, spending a moment of silence as we watch our daughter play quietly with her building bricks without a care. Its moments like these you can't help but revel in. It brings an air of normalcy to things…even though our current statuses made it anything _but_. She stacks a pile of blocks as high as she can manage, before moving onto another pile to start anew – all while maintaining an intricate, colour-coded pattern with each tower. It's absolutely _fascinating_ to sit and watch sometimes.

"…So, you and Drusilla decided to end it?"

"We _did_. The relationship was on its last rung before all this mess anyway. While I remain in the city, she and the kids will be heading toward the northern outskirts. With everything said and done…the end was quite cordial."

"How are the children fairing?"

"…Fair. They show interest in meeting Matilda."

"That's _very good_. Hopefully we can schedule a day for them to formally meet." I trill, taking another drag from my cigarette as I exhale the excess. " _Listen_ , I apologize if this whole fiasco impeded you in anyway…."

" _Impedes me?_ I'm an _esteemed_ cabinet minister serving under an _esteemed_ woman, what else could I ask for? Although…I do believe the persons responsible for this gaffe should be reprimanded somehow…"

Regardless of the cigarette in my mouth, I manage to crack a smile. "Don't you worry about that," I say. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's making _examples_ out of those who push the envelope."

"I look forward to seeing about how you go about those 'examples'."

"Mm."

"How is Matilda doing? She's grown so big..." Antonius adds, after another moment of silence. "I always forget, but isn't she affected by some condition?"

"Some form of autism. She doesn't take well to social queues among other things." I say. "Other than that, she's doing _quite well._ At only _four_ years old she's in _senior kindergarten._ The teachers bombard me with so many developments it's _hard_ to keep up with her."

"That's perfect news…I suppose I owe _you_ an apology then."

Confused, I quirk an inquisitive eyebrow toward him. "What for?"

"Since your pregnancy and her birth, I carried the same cavalier attitude until now. Besides the occasional Christmas or off-date, I never much cared for the girl. Now that my hands aren't tied with the divorce and all…I'd like to try my hand at getting involved more often."

Hearing this, I cross one leg over the other. He chose a _peculiar_ set of words. Instead of declaring he wanted to be there for Matilda _forever and always…_ he opts for the more ambiguous 'more often'. Can I blame him for being so passive about his child? We both hail from old money, further negating his role as Matilda has all she needs from me. Besides me I know for a _fact_ he has many more lovers… as do many prominent Capitolites.

In the end, being there for Matilda 'more often' is better than her growing up confused and resentful.

"Well…" I begin, nodding off towards our four-year-old daughter. "Mattie _has_ been getting more inquisitive about who her father is…"

"What a _perfect_ moment to reintroduce myself, then."

" _Matilda darling_ ," I croon, watching as her head instantly twists toward me. "Your _daddy_ is here to see you!"

* * *

It seems Armitage and my advisors were _correct-_ the _'paternity scandal'_ was now water under the bridge. After the rash of vacation _drownings, car accidents and sudden strokes_ that afflicted those responsible for running the story, no other media dared publish _anything_ pertaining to Viondra DeWynter without my explicit approval.

Let's just say that Panem's intelligence apparatus is _top notch._

Now, as Panem enters the middle of spring, the 99th Hunger Games have become the main story. As is customary, I sit down with Head Gamemaker Pearlana Singh for a briefing of this year's roster of Tributes.

"You've done what I've asked, correct?"

Perlana nods. "To the _last_ detail. The pools of tributes were reaped by likelihood – _percentile_ , non-mandatory attendance."

"What about the memo to the _Panem Broadcasting Commission_ and its affiliates?"

"All communication centers were notified of your order. Every television in the nation will have autonomy in what they can view, and all other programming will share the airwaves." She confirms.

Reclining in my chair, I let out a sigh of relief. Holding an _election_ while the Games continue to transpire will add unnecessary fuel to the fire. Allowing the Districts the _illusion_ of choice should make for less questions raised. Besides…it's the 99th…Just like the 49th and the 73rd Hunger Games, everyone will forget due to the upcoming Quarter Quell.

"Very good Pearl, let's watch those recaps shall we?"

Now when it comes to the Games, I don't know how, but when I spot a tribute with potential…I get this ' _hunch'_ …Be it Wade Rankine of the 73rd or the Co-Victors of the 95th, that tribute that piques my interests either takes it all home or _dies_ just before the mark.

Districts One, Two, Four and Snow Island – my personal favorites - each put up an impressive pair of tributes this year. But it was _District Six_ that managed to catch my attention.

"And the female tribute for District Six is Isabella Wilkinson!" Declares Sixes escort, Flo Shakespeare.

The crowd of eighteens dissipates until a dark-skinned girl is the odd girl out. At first, she glances around the square – shocked as she meets the eyes of people who stare back at her.

"Oh…She chose me – _nur_ -?!" Isabella cries, pointing to herself as a girl nearby nods. "Okay! I'm on my – _don't tic, don't tic, don't tic_ \- way, hehe…!"

Dressed in denim shorts and a wool sweater, the curly-headed girl whose hair best resembled an overgrown plant made her way towards the stage – twitching all the way.

"- _Woo, woo, woo!_ \- Keep it together Izzy! – _What the **fuck** are you all looking at?!_ – _nur_! -"

The Peacekeepers, Flo, the Governor and his staff and even the District's two victors watch with flabbergasted looks on their faces as the girl bounds the stage. Beaming as if she hadn't uttered a word, she juts her hand towards the escort.

"Hiya Flo – woo! – The name's Izzy, pleasure to – _ugly slut!_ – make your acquaintance…hehe."

"Pause it." I say. For I have seen enough.

Pearlana, giggling all the while, pauses the recap footage as Flo reaps the male and prompts the two tributes to shake hands.

"What's your intelligence report on Ms. Wilkinson?"

"Nothing significant, other than her parents being killed during a Peacekeeper sweep for contraband." Pearlana replies. "Like many of their ilk, their years of substance abuse were passed on to Isabella as well. Her teachers and orderlies at her Community Home say she's quite peculiar – _wiry_." Turning to me now she asks, " _Why_ , do you find her interesting?"

Sipping from my chalice, I nod along slowly as the young woman fights desperately to keep her… _spasms_ at bay. "Who _doesn't_ like quirky tributes, Pearl?"

"True. I look forward to her tribute interview in the coming days. Who knows, maybe she'll take the crown?"

"…Maybe. She's unlike other basketcases who've come before her."

The nineties decade pertaining to the Games have been a good showing for outlying Districts, with the Career Districts reemerging towards the latter half of the decade. With current trends I wonder how Ms. Wilkinson will fare.

…I'll keep my eye on her.

…

As much as I want so badly, I refrain from chucking the remote against the ground. "That fucking _bastard_ …"

Gideon gently raises a hand in an attempt to sate me. "It was pulled as soon as it was able…"

"Doesn't matter, it was aired on the _PBC_ for _Panem's sake_ – they got the gist of it regardless." I seethe, massaging my temples. The Avox I called for hands me a glass of water. Pivoting in my chair, I swivel to the credenza behind me and retrieve an Alka-Seltzer.

"How many people saw that treacherous drivel?" I seethe as I plop the capsule into the water and revel in its sizzle.

"Hard to say…It's midday, people are going about their business throughout the nation." Gideon replies. "With your recent executive orders to limit mandatory viewing…It could be within the hundreds of thousands at best…or _millions_ at worst. We cut their ad off the air and will erase it come recaps."

"That's perfect… _just perfect…"_ I spit, gulping down the carbonated water. "Right after the _fucking bloodbath…_ I was wrong, wasn't I Gideon? It seems like Archie has his Daddy's _wit_."

Archibald Kane and his gaggle of liberals decided to air a decisive ad showcasing a speech by my late processor.

" _The Districts have learnt their supposed lesson tenfold!"_ President Agesilaus Kane declared five years ago. _"By the beginning of this new decade, one hundred years of arbitrary oppression, strive and anguish will be OVER! – Let's make Uncle Kane's dream a reality, what better way to do this than to vote for Archibald Kane for President."_

"Neville Whitby over at the PBC only ran the ad because his team didn't check it over... _obviously_ , they apologize profusely."

"…Obviously I'll be playing into the hand of my opponents if I were to use my power to slight them, so make sure someone reminds them off the record who their leader _is_ and _will be."_

"Right," says Gideon, "would you like to fire off a response?"

"Yes, I would – on _all_ programming. In fact" I reply, sipping my water.

If he wants to play that way…I guess I shall follow his precedent.

Turning my attention towards the holovision, I let out a mew of surprise as Izzy Wilkinson escapes the bloodbath with her alliance intact. With her "8" in training, she sits as one of the many 'competitive' outlying tributes this year.

"On the bright side," I nod off towards a dumbfounded Izzy who's being tugged by the District 3 Male as they escape the bloodbath, "At least my tribute of interest made it through the opening hour."

A pleasant smile spreads across Gideon's lips "Who, Isabella Wilkinson? I've always secretly rooted for oddballs…"

My ruby-red lips smile back. "That's what I always say. It's either them _or_ the scrappy go-getters…"

…

 _"Unity, cohesion, security – these are the things Viondra DeWynter has strived for her whole public life. Kane advocates for the opposite, choosing selfish ideologies such as individualism and limited government. We've seen what selfishness has done in the past…is that the Panem you want to go back to? I know I don't. Vote for Viondra DeWynter, vote as if your whole world depended on it."_

"Dark Days footage…once you see it, the images really stick with you." Armitage shudders as the ad ends and the Games footage resumes. " _Good choice_."

"Gideon and…Celine say that they…. draw inspiration from… political ads pre-Panem." I pant, continuing to work away on the rowing machine I currently use.

The last five days have devolved into a propaganda war between all the candidates for president, all of us taking advantage of the lack of mandatory viewing by flooding the commercial space with our ads. Word around town is that some citizens are annoyed by the constant barrage of political advertisements. Little to worry...if they could watch ads about cars and hairspray ad nausea, then they could stomach a civil reminder or two.

In terms of Panem's Victor's...well, true to the holotape of their conversation last year, they've stuck to political neutrality...District Two withstanding. I suppose more reaching out needs to be done in order to garner their support. Unfortunately, it won't be that easy...Victors seem to be in the know better than the average District-dweller.

Armitage nods towards the holovision. "Oop, looks like the District 10 Male went through with it…I wonder how District 6 will fare now?"

We both watch on the holovision as the D10 Male without warning plunges his sword into the neck of the District 3 Male whilst his back was turned. The D3 Female attempts to fight Ten off, only to earn a sword through the chest. Ten leaves the girl for dead, swiping all the gear they've earned. Three lives long enough for Isabella to come back from her scouting run.

Saddened, dazed and confused, Izzy wanders the irradiated streets of Chicago only to be attacked by a feral irradiated stag an hour later. The next day, the weakened Izzy encounters the District 2 Male.

"Hey hey hey…look who it is, the _spazzy District 6 girl_." The hulking boy chuckles while lugging his mace. "Prepare to get _creamed_ , girly."

Only when she overpowers and slews the Career _, hacking his arm off and continuing to slash at his body while he begs for her to just end it all,_ does my faith become restored in her. It's as if part of her just… _snapped_.

It doesn't happen always, but when a tribute 'develops' from their experiences in the arena…there's almost no way of stopping them. _Isabella Wilkinson_ is one of those tributes.

…

I suppose I was _right_.

Sipping my champagne, I join my fellow party guest's fervent applause as the bloodied kunai tumbles out of Izzy's hand. The Ten Boy's face and upper chest was unrecognizable – as it was pocked with stab wounds. The cannon sounds, the anthem blares and the Master of Ceremonies is quick to announce Isabella Wilkinson as Panem's 99th Victor of the Hunger Games.

Her face splotched with blood and her hair ten times as mangled as it normally is, Izzy rises from off the ground – fatigued and… _chuckling?_ I suppose the chuckling is a given…

"…I can't believe it…." the eighteen year old splutters, her eyes sparkling as she glances up towards the sky. "…I… _I did it!?_ "

" _Yes_ , yes you _did_." I say towards the screen, lighting a cigarette and inhaling its contents.

Gideon swivels in his seat, a martini in hand. "It appears you were _right_ , Viondra."

"Pardon my ego, but I usually always am when it comes to these things…"

"For a Games before a Quell, it was not too shabby. No rebellious outbursts, a high-population factory district gets a victor which in turn…"

"- _Placates_ them." I finish for him. "They now have their third victor since the War – one that _isn't_ a drugged-up beatnik, one that actually _fought_ for the title…"

Due to Sixes population, they are much more difficult to facilitate come grievances. With a victor under their belt, it makes the election far more palatable in that region now that the attention will be focused on _them_. With a quirky, controllable victor in Isabella Wilkinson, all attention could now be focused on Election Day.

Blowing out the excess smoke from my cigarette, Gideon and I watch as the cameras cut to a celebrating District 6. Taverns, factories even Isabella's very own Community Home seem jubilant.

Its all clear waters from here.


	9. Hello, Viondra!

_**Nine: 'Hello,Viondra!'**_

* * *

With the Games now mostly an afterthought, Panem now jumps into the summer months. A few _obscure_ senators who had thrown their hats into the ring have now withdrawn their candidacy. Most have fallen into my collum, while other more _liberal_ senators have thrown their support behind Kane. It's looking to be a three way race – Myself, Kane and Kaplan Parr trailing behind at a distant third. To bolster support and funds for my campaign and various allies, I am to partake in a fundraiser gala at the _Schlossberg Square Garden._

It isn't just _any_ gala mind you, today also happens to by my _birthday_. Despite countless days spent musing to various members of my staff and family about possible surprises, I only receive half-answers and wry smiles.

As I leave my bedroom chambers, I'm met with Agents Dallaire and Amelia Hawke. My hyenas Mars and Juniper are quick to rise from off the ground and nuzzle around my heel. I return their cuddles tenfold.

"Happy birthday, Madam President." Says Dallaire with a warm smile etched across his face. Agent Hawke inclines her head with an identical expression on her lips.

"Good morning agents. I take it that since Antonia isn't here with you that my schedule is clear until the gala tonight?"

Dallaire nods. "Correct."

"The only thing that requires your attention right now is your breakfast." Agent Hawke says with a wink. "Matilda and her Avox are already in the dining room awaiting your arrival."

I gesture for my Agents to lead the way. "Well, let's not keep them waiting."

…

As I enter the expansive dining room, I'm surprised to see my immediate family sitting around the longtable. The table was filled to the brim with various foods, my nose overwhelmed with the succulent scents they produce. Avox servers line up against the wall, awaiting further orders.

"Happy Birthday, mommy!" Matilda trills as soon as her eyes spot me.

"Look who it is!" My sister Vivian announces, nodding her head towards me whilst raising her mug. " _Ms. Sleeping Beauty_ decided to wake up."

As all eyes swivel to me, a resounding _happy birthday_ floods the room as I deliver a faux curtsey. Making my way around the table, I kiss the cheeks and slink my arms around the chests of my loved ones in greeting.

"What a _pleasant_ surprise," I trill, taking my seat beside Matilda. "I wasn't expecting to see any of you until this evening!"

"Oh, things would be _much too_ hectic by then my dear." Coos Mother.

"Besides, you could use some relief from your election fever." Adds Armitage, as he takes a sip of tea. "You've been working _hard_. It's always good to _pause_ once in a while…especially in a profession like this."

Father apparently begs to differ, guffawing as he orders an Avox to serve him another plate of food. "HA, that's _bushwah_ my boy! In politics, _every breathing day_ is _'election fever'_."

Father was right…last night's sleep was anything but pleasant; as I spent it tossing and turning while poll numbers and television appearances swirled around my brain. As we speak, Kane begins his tour of the outer districts while _I_ prepare for a multi-million sesterces gala in my honor. Like the sex-paternity scandal, I'm playing into his hand. And with the polls regarding the nation at-large, one can never truly _relax._

" _Look_ , all I'm saying is that Viondra needn't stress more than she should. The election in of itself is _months_ away."

Raymond lets out a grumble as Violet nurses my nephew with grimace on her face. "Here we go once _again…_ "

Before father could retort, I gently raise a hand, effectively cutting both men off. "You're _both_ right. Father, we're _DeWynters_ …we don't _not_ achieve without vigorous planning. _However_ , family comes before _any and everything_ else."

Exchanging weary gazes, Father's frown quickly transitions into a grin as he nods. "I suppose you're right, m'dear."

"Aren't I always?" I trill, shooting a wink his way. "Now _please_ , everyone eat! There'll be more than enough politicking in the hours to come I would imagine..."

…

As I enter the East Wing, I'm greeted with more birthday wishes. By the dozens; my aides line the hallways. Each of them hold a knowing grin across their lips.

I can't help but grin back. "What are you all getting at?"

I continue my walk towards the Presidential Office, where the procession ends with a plethora of gifts in the Presidential Sitting Room.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" my staffers cheer, prompting me to cringe at the resounding noise they emit.

 _For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow_

 _For she's a jolly good fellow….which nobody can deny_

 _Which nobody can deny, which nobody can deny_

 _For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow_

 _For she's a jolly good fell-owwwwwwwwww… which nobody can deny!_

"Thank you… thank you." I relent, shaking the hands of the various members of my team. Antonia is the first to present me with a gift which takes the shape of an expansive box. I'm elated to see that I was gifted with a white fur stole.

"Antonia, you _shouldn't_ have." I purr, giving my Secretary a one-armed hug. "Is this _real_ polar bear fur?"

Adjusting her cat-eye glasses, she nods. "Mhm, it came straight from _Simpson's Department Store."_

"Happy Birthday, Viondra." Says Gideon as he strolls over. "The Praetorian Guard had a _fit_ trying to vet all these gifts. I hear they're still sorting some now…"

I point towards the item jutting past his shoulder. "What's _that_ behind your back?"

A faux frown of confusion spreads across his features. "What, _this thing_? Here you go…just a little something _something_ I see you using to the fullest. "

The room ooh's at the _rifle-shaped_ gift he places into my hands. " _My my…"_ I coo, quickly devouring the wrapping paper around the present to reveal a _rifle_. Grinning like a child on Christmas morn, I heave the rifle in my hands and take aim.

"It was an heirloom from my ancestor, a memento from the Second World War." He explains, watching as I load an empty magazine and play with the receiver. "I'm familiar with antiques, but not weapons. Erm…I believe the rifle was named the M1…Gar-"

I let out a hum of approval while the rifle lets out a * _ping_ * noise as the clip ejects from the receiver. " _Garand_ , the _M1 Garand_. There are many in the National Archive Museum, but I _doubt_ they're in working order..." I give my Chief of Staff a genuine hug and a polite kiss on the cheek.

Where advisors are at best dismissed at the drop of a hat or at worst executed or avoxed, Gideon Montresor's decades of civil service is a testament to his amiable character. Not too fervent…not too dissenting, just _balanced_ – exactly the type of right-hand man a leader needs.

" _Thank you Gideon_. I'll be sure to use it on the campaign trail. I'm certain District 12, 11 or 10 have some pristine hunting locales I could partake in…"

"Word has it that Katniss Everdeen used the woods of District 12 to hunt, it's why she was so proficient with a bow." He muses.

I suppress the urge to shudder upon hearing her name. "…So they say…"

Gesturing towards my office, the both of us begin to make our way inside.

"Say…riddle me this, with today being my birthday and all?"

"I'm _all ears_."

"What does tonight's gala entail _entertainment_ wise?"

We stop at the office entrance, just as I begin to open the grand doors. Turning towards me, my Chief of Staff flashes his signature coy grin my way. The name alone is enough to keep my head buzzing with speculation from now till evening.

"Does _Benny Sinatra_ pique your interest?"

…

 _The Schlossberg Square Garden_ …Be it betting on Tributes in a Hunger Games, playing slots, partaking in concerts or many more, the stadium serves as one of the many venues in which the _who's who_ of the Capitol amass for our functions. Even as I glance out the window from the hotel suite I occupy, limousines continue to make their way around the fountain-centered curl-de-sac, Nationalist Party bigwigs and socialites of all stripes moving en masse through the golden revolving doors.

" _Viondra_ ," calls Antonius whilst rapping on my suite door, "For _Panem's sake_ , it's been an _hour_!"

I ignore his calls while I continue to ogle myself in the mirror. Famed stylist _Horatio Ford_ gifted me a dark-blue rhinestone, skin-tight dress that's sure to be plastered all over the tabloids in the coming days. Applying one more layer of lipstick and padding down my bouffant, I leave my suite and join my brother in the foyer feeling _fifty times_ more succulent than I usually do.

" _Gods above…_ " My paramour muses – _my_ _ego boost facilitated in the process,_ "You look _absolutely stunning_. The thing looks as if it's a second skin…"

Holding out my white fur stole, I turn around and allow him to wrap the garment around my shoulders.

"That's exactly the reason why I chose to…" a breathless giggle escapes my throat as he plants a flurry of kisses against my neck, " _Forego_ _undergarments_."

"What a glorious image…" he smirks, gesturing to the crook of his arm. "Shall we?"

…

It seems my suspicions were _right!_ As soon as my title was announced, all partygoers turned to the grand steps and joined together in vigorous applause.

As I stepped onto the gala floor and began shaking hands with fellow officials, the applause turned into fervent mumbling. My ears were constantly stimulated with musings about my dress and how exquisite I looked…I could've sworn I heard a remark pegging me not a day over _thirty_.

Everyone else looked the part, surely. There were black ties, pocket squares and dresses as far as the eye could see. Capitolite didn't make up the entirety of the Gala attendees, as party delegates and officials from across the Districts are also in attendance. Their clothing was much more muted, and thus stood out much more due to the lack of _'excess flare'_ showcased by us city-dwellers.

As I reach the Gala floor, _everyone_ and _anyone_ gravitate towards my social sphere. Under the watchful eyes of my security detail, I shake a plethora of hands and am the recipient of kisses to the cheek and hand.

Gideon serves as the facilitator, introducing me to the various socialites and officials that yearn to meet me. "Madam President, Esmeralda Cruz – one of the Nationalist Parties top donors last quarter."

"I'm rooting for _you_ President DeWynter….Do you know how _petrified_ I was about Kane dismissing the Games!?"

I plaster a smile across my lips whilst pumping her hand. As ditsy as she seems, Ms. Cruz doesn't peg me for a proponent of big government and planned economies. Then again, half the people in this room only want to see to it that their precious Games continue. _Money is money_ , as they say.

"It's a _pleasure_ to meet you, Esmeralda. Thank you for your support."

"This is Master Corporal Slate Evans – District 2 delegate member and a candidate for a National Assembly seat in that district."

The handsome young man snaps a salute, which I playfully return.

"Madam President, my father served under you during the Mockingjay War. I for one can't wait to serve under you in our nation's National Assembly."

"Thank you for your service, Master Corporal. Good luck winning that seat this December."

The partygoers around me fall into excited, hushed musings. As I turn back to Gideon, I'm surprised to see the Victor of the 99th Hunger Games standing in front me. She appears…'wired', lacking the twitchiness and hyperactive persona she usually carries. I suspect drugs are aiding this.

"Madam President," says Gideon with a knowing tone. " _Isabella Wilkinson_ , Victor of the Ninety-Ninth Hunger Games. Ms. Wilkinson here asked to be a part of the District 6 Nationalist delegation."

"Ah…Izzy, how are you my darling? I'm _surprised_ someone as young as you takes interest in Panemian politics." I just my hand towards her, only to quickly retract as the young lady makes no move to return my gesture.

"I've spent almost twenty years on this earth…being the way I am," She says, her voice even and terse. Now that I'm right in front of her, I notice how 'slow' her speech pattern is. "If you were serious about your position and this election…you'll seriously consider my concerns."

 _Hmph_ …Regardless of her speech pattern, she isn't as ditzy as I thought she was. Then again, drugs. "What are those concerns, Ms. Wilkinson?"

"Do you guys not _care_ about orphans, the… _'slower'_ kids – people like _me!_?" she replies, her voice now cracking.

Eyes within our sphere begin turning our way in curiosity. I'm quick to gently escort her towards the refreshments table. We wouldn't want my reputation questioned, would we?

"My escort spoke to me about winners after the Games taking up a ' _talent'_ , she continues. "Well, I've decided standing up for those who can't seem like a decent hobby."

I nod. "Philanthropy is a noble profession. Many Hunger Games Victors benefit from that line of work."

She shakes her head vigorously. " _No, no, no_. It isn't about _benefits,_ Ms. DeWynter. It's constantly being seeing as an _invalid_ in a drab, weary world that couldn't care less about you. I have my concerns about this whole 'election' thing, but if you had any sense of care, you'd make sure that Panem's orphans and mentally…slow youths are well adjusted like _everyone_ else."

I've been had. With a slight frown, I find myself nodding in agreement. The Capitol has tons of convalescent homes and other institutes to help the infirm. Orphans are put into care homes or simply adopted. Kane wanted to revamp the system…to no avail as the legislative system wouldn't have it.

Maybe _I_ could pick up the slack.

I pump her hand for a final time. "Duly noted Ms. Wilkinson, you've given me a lot to think about for my upcoming tour of the Districts."

A dark skinned lady with bushy hair, teal headband and matching triangular earrings is quick to encroach on our conversation. Upon further inspection, I identify the young lady as Flo, Escort to District 6. She's quick to apologize for not keeping the lucid Isabella under supervision, to which I blow off.

"Viondra," says Gideon, tapping my shoulder. "Please, let me escort you to your seat. The entertainment is about to begin."

I snake my arm into the crook of his elbow. " _Joy._ I can't wait to see what you and the team have come up with."

 _…_

 _"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you your hosts this evening – Benedict Sinatra featuring Barley Philips and Cornelius Lombardi!"_

Like the rest of the stadium, I'm quick to rise to my feet and offer praise to Panem's greatest musical talent. Benedict or ' _Benny'_ Sinatra and I have a seasoned history, as do I and Cornelius as the three of us attended secondary school together. They always were musically gifted, constantly showered with arts awards.

Barley was from District 11, the literal king of blues, jazz and the like. If that District excels at one thing, it's the music scene. _Peachtree Records_ have produced many pop singers over the years.

Benny is quick to take the microphone from the MC, while playfully bowing towards the audience. "Thank you, thank you! Cornelius, Barley and I appreciate the welcome. Now…I don't know much about you bigwig government types and your politicking. But if I know _one thing_ about the profession, it's that DeWynter's the one for the job. Trust me…I've known the gal for _years_."

The crowd lets out a round of laughter.

"Speaking of DeWynter…Viondra darling, _please_ , stand up for us."

With aide from Antonius, I stand to my feet as I'm bathed with praise. I can't help but feel flushed at the amount of cheers that flood my ears.

"Barley," says Sinatra, "You know your women…if you could describe our President, what terminology would you use?"

The dark-skinned man breathes out a sigh, gazing at me longingly as the crowd doubles over in laughter.

" _Mannn_ , Madam President, you look as _fineeee as wine!_ If you don't mind me askin'…This is your _twenty-fifth birthday_ right?"

That does it. With a playful tune orchestrated by the band, the crowd loses all control.

"President DeWynter looks good for her special day…not that she does _every other day_ ," says Benny over another light round of laughter. "To start off the evening, I thought I'd sing you a little _something something…"_

So he does. With his gods-gifted voice, he begins to serenade me with a rendition of _'Happy Birthday'._ The crowd exclaims as a gargantuan birthday cake is brought out, effectively filling up the void on the refreshments table. It depicted the Presidential mansion ontop of a 'hill', decked with Panemian flags and a _'HAPPY BIRTHDAY MDM PRESIDENT!_ ' printed on the bottom of said hill.

Part of me wonders how long this cake could last given Capitolite eating habits…weeks, _months_?

As fast as my dress allows me, I quickly take the stage as Benny and his band round out the song.

"Thank you, Benny, for the amazing singing you did just now…I think I can finally die in peace, knowing that I was serenaded by a man such as you." I say, resulting in laughter from the crowd.

"We're far from done, Madam President!" says Cornelius as I return to my seat.

"Remember when we said we weren't all that political, but we know that _you're_ the one to continue leading our great nation?"

The cameras pan to me as I nod tentatively.

"Well, the boys and I thought we could uh… ' _Articulate'_ our feelings with _song_." Says Benny over the rising roars of the crowd.

 _"So…we present to you, 'Hello, Viondra!'"_

Motioning to the band with a pep in his step, the orchestra lets out a opening swell as he, Cornelius and Barley move to the forefront of the stage.

 _Hello Viondra,_

 _Well hello, Viondra_

 _We'd be proud to have you back where you belong_ _  
You're lookin' swell, Viondra,  
We can tell, Viondra  
You're still glowin', you're still crowin',  
You're still going strong!_

Cornelius and Barley join in now, the three of them parading around stage with canes.

 _We hear the band playing_ _  
And the folks saying!_

 _"You're the gal that knows just how to get things done!"_ Benny winks, tossing his straw hat into the air. He catches it, bobbing on the balls of his feet as he throws his arms over the shoulders of both Barley and Cornelius.

 _"Soooooo wow-o-wow fellas, look at that gal go now fellas, the damn world agrees that she's the one!"_

The orchestra takes over now, prompting Barley to break out in a jig. The crowd giggles and exclaims with glee as his black and white oxfords gently tap against the stage floor.

…

Gideon is a **_godsdammed genius._** This jingle _"Hello, Viondra!"_ would be played across the nation, adding immensely to that "sprightly woman" personal I've managed to build thus far. With this jingle, I begin my tour across the nation. With… _blunt_ but measured opinions from the Victors _(Opinion on the Hunger Games omitted)_ I amass solutions for issues that persist within the Districts.

 _Hello, Viondra_

 _Well hello, Viondra_

 _It's just great to have you there where you belong_

"My Pappy died recently, bad heart," Says a dark-haired boy by the name of Jeremiah. "I'd work the mines, but they don't take no fifteen year olds. Why not? I don't have to work too too deep if that's the issue?"

"I agree Jeremiah, which is why I promise to you today that the age limit to work for Capitol Coal will be lowered to fifteen exactly, allowing for one whole year of preparatory training and further training up until Grade 12."

A popular topic across all Districts was the formation of workers unions.

 _You're lookin' swell, Viondra,  
We can tell, Viondra  
You're still glowin', you're still crowin',  
You're still going strong!_

"As President _Jack Schlossberg_ once said, 'Love your task, take pride in your labour, our nation's future is in **_your hands._** '"I say to a crowd of automobile workers in District 6 and have said to workers across the nation. "I understand and agree with this message. If re-elected, the National Government under my leadership will gladly facilitate a worker's union, fostering better conditions and wages."

On the factory floor, a Worker raises their hand. "Archibald Kane says if he's elected, the government would have no hand in unions – that we would represent ourselves."

"Would you _really_ want that?" I ask the young woman. "A powerful group like a worker's union _free_ from the unbiased control of the Capitol? Unlike the ' _Liberal-Democrats'_ , filled with supposed former Rebels who selfishly craved for free reign to enrich themselves, a Capitol-controlled union would prevent your bosses from performing corrupt practices and ensure that each and every worker has their voices heard _regardless_ of their status."

The Worker alongside her colleagues begins to nod slightly amongst them. From above, I can't help but smirk. Who else to have your back than _big brother?_

 _We hear the band playing_ _  
And the folks saying!_

Of course, I haven't forgotten the philanthropic ventures of District Sixes Isabella Wilkinson and Eleven's Paisley Linscott-Gordon.

"Citizens of Macon, District 11, I stand here with you all today to proudly accept Ms. Linscott-Gordon's offer to be the _Linscott-Gordon School for Wayward Children's_ Chief Patron. Panem's underprivileged youth have been cast away for far too long, and I firmly believe the Capitol could be far more gracious than we have prior. I look forward to speaking to citizens across Panem pertaining to this topic. Thank you."

Turing away from the stage, I turn back to Paisley to find the dark-skinned Victor with a content smirk on her face.

"Does that help?" I ask, knowing that District 11 leaned toward Kane rather than me.

She shoots off a playful shrug. " _Maybe_..."

"Not just with them, but _you_ as well."

Her smirk grows into a full blow smile. "We'll just have to see, now don't we?"

 _Let's all rally 'round the one who knows the storm!_

 _Soooooooooooooooo_

"Now that Kane's gone, what does a DeWynter government look like for Isla Nieve?" asks Rafaela Novia, Victor of the 95th Hunger Games.

The room is packed with my many 'business associates' from across the nation, all of us meeting here in Havana.

As I sit in this resort boardroom, I cross one leg over the other and smirk. The room is packed with Panem's criminal families from across the nation.

"It looks like _freedom_. Excluding everyone outside this meeting room, consider yourselves exempt from contraband laws. Using the various casinos and resorts across the island, all profits will be 'cleaned' and split with the DeWynter family. If you vote against Districthood, this would help immensely – as Snow Island won't face the full brunt of Panem law. In regards to your legitimate businesses, let your workers know that they'll receive more social benefits from the Capitol under my leadership. For all this, all I require is your _fealty_. Any other inquires or kinks that need to be ironed out can be made once I'm re-election."

"Bueno…Bueno…" nods a Mobster. "I don't know about you all, but I'm _sold_."

"I'm glad my _proposals_ struck a chord with you all." I chirp, pumping the hands of everyone in the room. "I look forward to further cooperation."

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Rafaela's circular glasses glisten in the moonlight, a light smirk etched on her lips.

 _Wow-o-wow fellas,_

 _Look at that gal go now fellas, the whole world says that she's the one!_

 _The whole world says that she's the one!_

 _The whole world says that she's the one!_

 _The whole darn world agrees that she's the onnne!_

I've just finished delivering an emigration and migration speech that's received high acclaim with the audience here in District 7 and throughout Panem. As I turn to Gideon, he allows a single nod alongside a thumbs up my way.

I wink at my Chief of Staff. I'd say _tour well done._

…

 _PANEMIAN FEDERAL ELECTION: 2162 – Kane and DeWynter duke it out as polls reach statistical tie._

 _"Panemians across the nation are deeply divided over the progressive Kane and illustrious DeWynter. With only weeks to go until Election D-"_

"What's next?" I say, wrapping hands around my molten mug to ward off the December chill in my bones.

"Out with the propaganda war and in with the war of _wits_ ," Says Gideon, tapping his temple.

"It's time we began preparing for the _Presidential Debate_."

* * *

This chapter was reminiscent of many historical happenings in political history...

I re-wrote this chapter many times. I thought of making my own jingle, but I couldn't get it to 'flow' right. Viondra's jingle was taken after LBJ's _'Hello, Lyndon' (1964)_ by Ed Ames. I would've been more touching to do 'High Hopes' (JFK's jingle)...but hey. I elude to many characters in my SYOT universe being based off of real people, and using High Hopes would be too reminiscent.

This next chapter I'll enjoy immensely, as it's political in nature. It shouldn't take too long to finish. After that...I think 1 more full chapter is left and then this side story wraps up and I move on to the actual SYOT.

Thank you people who read in the background, I appreciate it as per usual.


	10. Fasces vs Liberty

**_To whom it may concern:_** Sorry! Just balancing alternative school and an online course...90%s across the board...By November I'll be free again. Two more chapters of _Calamity_ to go!

* * *

 ** _Ten:_** _Fasces vs Liberty_

* * *

 _ **Chad Blakely, 48,**_

 _ **Chief Correspondent, Panem Broadcasting Corporation.**_

* * *

The word ' _excitement'_ was an _understatement_ when it came to a day like this. After _months and years_ of covering monotonous legislative proceedings and the occasionally heated Supreme Court hearing, its exceptional moments like _these_ I strive to live for.

"Mr. Blakely," calls a Stagehand. "We're on in t-minus _twenty minutes!"_

Glancing up from my papers on my desk, I flash him a courteous wave. "I'm ready to go on this end!"

Swiveling in my chair, I watch as the first batches of carefully selected spectators begin to take their seats. The various news networks take position in a pew overlooking the hall. The pundits are hard at work, debating heatedly amongst themselves. The audience chatter is at an all time high, filled with anticipation for here, in _District 1_ of all places, Panemians from across the nation – both Capitol and District – flock to this auditorium and to their televisions to witness history that hasn't been experienced in _decades._

And _I_ get to have a hand in it. I can't help but feel _humbled_ to take part in yet another historical moment such as this.

A rough tap on the shoulder is enough to rouse me out of my joyous state. "Excuse me, ?"

"Mmm?" I glance upward to see a man in a navy suit hovering over me - a _stagehand_ perhaps? Although judging by his stony demeanor, I _doubt_ that.

"Do you have a copy of that _memo_ we asked for?" he asks while shooting me with a knowing glare. "The _higher ups_ seemed to have never got theirs."

It all comes together quite quickly, him _being here_ that is. " _Yes, yes_ , of course I have a copy…Um, you make sure they hold onto this copy, ok?"

The Man simply nods. "We'll take _excellent_ care of it."

"Of course, here, let me just-"shuffling the extra set of debate questions onto the table before me, I hand them off the Man casually. The Man slips it into a dossier, extending his hand for a shake which I unwillingly reciprocate.

"Thank you for the memo, Mr. Blakely," Says the Man. "I'll be sure to run this over to our _boss_ shortly."

To keep up appearances, I plaster a weak smile onto my lips. "I'm sure they'll find the _memo_ sufficient…"

As the Man turns and makes his way backstage, I find myself blowing out a breath I didn't realize I held. Adjusting my tie, I slink back into my seat. The stage is becoming busier, officials from DeWynter and Kane's respective camps prepping the podiums for their candidate's arrival.

"Fifty seconds until we're live, Mr. Blakely!"

 _Maybe_ …having _too much_ of a hand is a bad thing. _Not to worry,_ the one with the last say are the people of Panem _themselves…_ or so I'd like to think.

" _Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…"_

…

***The following is a rough transcript of the first presidential debate***

 ** _Blakely:_** Good Evening, citizens of Panem! Today Is December 10th, 2162. From the Hall of Justice in District 1, I welcome you to the first of two presidential debates. I am Chad Blakely, your moderator for this debate and PBC News chief correspondent. This debate will focus on regarding a myriad of topics such as each candidate's vision for Panem alongside their solutions to issues like economics and the like. These topics will be covered in duration of over 90 minutes, split into segments.

This debate is administrated by the Panemian Election Commission, a subsidiary of the Ministry of Districts' Affairs supported by a plethora of media outlets such as the PBC and Capitol TV. Both contenders have agreed to the rules prescribed by the Commission.

With that being said, I welcome Archibald Kane of the Liberal-Democratic Party and incumbent President, Viondra DeWynter, who happens to be independent while caucusing with the Nationalist Party.

[Applause fills the hall as the two candidates take to their respective podiums. No handshakes were given.]

 ** _Archibald Kane:_** Viondra…

 ** _Viondra DeWynter:_** Mm.

Good luck to you both. Tonight and the days that come will truly go down in history as a pivotal moment for Panem. Let us begin.

Via a coin toss, the first speaker of the night belongs to Archibald Kane, eldest son of the late President Agesilaus Kane. To you Mr. Kane I ask you this, what is **_your vision of Panem? What are your values?_**

 ** _Archibald Kane:_** Thank you Chad for the welcome and thank you, people of District 1, for hosting this debate. You showed my father immense love when he visited you over a year ago. When he was so unjustly slain on your streets, you tried so valiantly to mend him. On behalf of the Kane family, we are extremely grateful.

My fellow Panemians, for the majority of our existence, Panem has served as a beacon of perseverance and hope in the aftermath of world Armageddon. It was only recently a certain few decided to pervert what our founders intended.

While a privileged few splurge until their hearts content and follow all the current fashion trends, the majority spend their lives slaving away, living wage to wage with _nothing_ to show for it. A noble force of warriors tasked to keep the peace within our lands providing the _antithesis_ of that mandate. There are many more infractions various governments have enacted upon its citizens… _many many_ more, which I'm sure I'll have a chance to expose by the time this debate is through.

Some of you may be scratching your heads, scoffing at the Capitol man – _an epitome of privilege_ – who preaches to you about inequality here tonight. Make no mistake, like my late father Agesilaus Kane; I strive to pick up the torch he dropped – rescinding the ever-oppressive tentacles of government micromanaging every aspect of your lives.

I yearn for a Panem in which the _individual_ can strive, in which his children could live a better life than he, in which one could _speak_ the words they _think_ , where we could open up to the rest of the world and strive together to recreate the global community we once had. Finally, I yearn for a Panem in which _all_ are equal, not just a select few at the top _deceiving_ their way to power.

 ** _Chad Blakely:_** …President DeWynter, member of the esteemed DeWynter family tree, your thoughts?

 ** _Viondra DeWynter:_** _Certainly_. People of Panem, since taking office that fateful October evening, I've striven to do the exact opposite of Agesilaus Kane's predecessors by taking up his mantle…albeit _better_ than he could. Panem, despite going through so much over the past two centuries, has come so far since then…It wasn't due to the _individual_ , no no!

It was because of _you_ , the man in District 1 creating appliances and other luxuries that we all so selfishly enjoy; it was because of _you_ , the man in District 2, laying the foundation that would become our robust infrastructure. It was because of _all of you,_ loving your labour, taking _pride_ in your task – knowing the future were in _your_ hands.

…That's what our third president, _Joni Ersnt_ , said in her address infant nation roughly two years after its founding – when the world around us and our livelihoods were _decimated._ That motto would be ingrained into the hearts and minds of _every_ Panemian until today. Generations of _'me, me, me'_ is what lead to the disasters and thus Panem. It is imperative that the selfish desire of ' _personal'_ rights never triumph over the wellbeing of the _State –_ which includes _all_ of us working in tandem that continue to be the last vestige of civilization. _One_ Capitol ringed by _Thirteen_ Districts and Territories.

…Now, I'd be a fool to say that this policy has been carried out _without_ flaw. As an old mentor once told me, there might be a hundred things in a home that needs to be fixed. Since taking office, we are well on our way to fixing them.

Better education, better standards of living, diversified economies planned by the Capitol, all these I will gladly support if retained.

 ** _Blakely:_** Your response, Mr. Kane?

 ** _Kane:_** ' _Better than my father could'?_ You, Viondra DeWynter, are _no_ Agesilaus Kane. Let it be known that this woman and her gaggle of allies in our ' _government'_ have routinely shut out my father on every occasion pertaining to the betterment of the citizens outside Capitol City. Vice President of Panem or nothing, the only reason you were retained was because you knew your way better through the _old boys club._

 ** _DeWynter:_** Nor do I _want_ to be, Archibald. As much as you like to tout your late father's achievements, as you should, Agesilaus Kane's political strength was _lacking_ …

 ** _Kane:_** You were my father's _vice president;_ you know very well the power you had-

 ** _DeWynter:_** In which I had _none._ People of Panem…our political system post Second-Rebellion is a _tumultuous_ one. Due to differences in policy, I was frozen out of many decision making sessions…

 ** _Kane_** : Because **_you_** were actively trying to sabotage his attempt to move the nation forward-

 ** _DeWynter:_** -Since Kane was an **_independent_** , political differences in the newly reformed legislature made it difficult for him to pass legislation effectively…that is, if he circumvents the legislature and enacts law via executive order, which he has done for the past _five years_ since taking office. It reminds me of how _previous administrations_ handled laws.

There is still many-a-thing that needs to be improved within the Districts, health care, education, territorial expansion and much more. The only one who could deliver on said improvements is I, _Viondra DeWynter._

 ** _Blakely:_** _Open rebuttals are allowed._

 ** _Kane:_** Such egotistical arrogance. While I and Liberal-Democratic supporters have been making our case to a citizenry long forgotten, Viondra DeWynter spends her time hobnobbing at lavish parties and private meetings. Under my leadership, the Capitol _will be open_ to everybody, not just the bigwigs at the top.

 ** _DeWynter:_** My my…What have _you_ been doing the past…ten years? The same as I have, no? I've spent the past year since my swearing in speaking with Panemians from all walks of life. I'm not going to apologize for partaking in what my family has built. If my address to the nation following your father's death has shown anyone anything, it's that I'm ready to confront the issues.

 ** _Kane:_** Yes…your father has built quite a fortune off the backs of **_many_** non-Capitols.

 ** _DeWynter:_** As President Snow's Minister of Districts' Affairs, my father was responsible for taking a failed nation ravaged by _The Disasters_ , Snow Island, and returned it to its former glory, among other achievements. You **_don't know_** what you're talking about.

 ** _Blakely:_** We'll move on to the next question…it's a question that many Panemians have wondered since our nations inception. As we've seen with rocket attacks from District 4's southern fringes or as recent with the infamous Australian Confederation spying on our nation… ** _What is left of our world and what is Panem's place in it?_** Ms. DeWynter, your answer?

 ** _DeWynter:_** My fellow citizens…as I've stated prior, there are many issues in our home. However, our issues are no way near as **_catastrophic_** as outside our borders. Snow Island is but an exception, a _gem_ amongst the rubble.

Since the establishment of the Panemian Expeditionary Force and with the help of noble victors such as Celosia Vale of District 7, Panem has recently made efforts to 'explore' the remnants of the world. Yes…we've found smaller nations of competence. Some are exceptional…while most are the bipolar opposite. Regardless of their intentions, good or bad, there is a reason as to why Panem does not engage with these _miscreants_.

These remnants of the same nations who dragged our ancestors into their petty squabbles haven't learned their lesson. It seems that catastrophe on a grand scale hasn't frazzled them.

These regions are _dangerous_ and only care about **_their_** well being. It's only natural that we keep to ourselves to prevent the last example of _decent_ civilization from being _atomized_ once more. The world as you may wonder…is **_dead,_** fallen to barbarism over the ounce of resources left in their regions.

 ** _Blakely:_** Senator Kane, your response and or opinions on the matter?

 ** _Kane_** : Fellow Panemians…President DeWynter paints a dystrophic view of the world, and _partially_ so. She forgets, however, that there are a handful of nations who wish to return the world to what it _once was_. Could you imagine visiting faraway lands, trading our resources in exchange for theirs, exchanging ideas in order to make our nations better than they were…?

What happened leading up to the founding of our nation _happened._ With knowledge from the mistakes of our past we could band together with the remnants of the world and forge a global community that was _stronger_ than that of our ancestors.

 **DeWynter:** Archibald Kane forgets that at least one hundred foreign agents infiltrated our nation during the confusion of the Second Rebellion. As you may remember, around the time of the 95th Hunger Games, it was found that Panem was infiltrated by spies hailing from the Grand Pacific Ocean…the _'Australian Confederation'_. This nation, alongside its proxies, has attempted to usurp Panem's information for their own nefarious goals. On top of this, the former nation of _China_ had nuclear armaments capable of targeting Panem. Although successful in dismantling this rogue region, 158 noble Peacekeepers were killed in the defence of their nation.

 **Kane:** Viondra DeWynter forgets that she, along with her gaggle of friends in higher places, advocated for the encroachment of natural resources from other regions of the world.

[Confused murmurs wash over the audience]

 ** _DeWynter:_** …People of Panem, this is true. Since the inception of our nation, our Navy has conducted many expeditions into the world of old, claiming many resources that now lay untapped due to the disasters that have culled the populations outside our continent. Doing so lessens **_your_** workload and **_prevents_** interlopers such as in the Grand Pacific and elsewhere from doing us harm.

[Murmurs of approval from the audience]

The infomercials don't lie Archibald Kane, Panem is all that's left of decent civilization and I believe that Panemians from coast to coast would agree that those idle resources would be best served with **_us._**

 **Kane:** You're _wrong_. Panem could use less bullies in office, hopefully I can change the trend. There are nations out there who have had relative success. If Panem got together with them, imagine the progress we'd see.

 **DeWynter** : When it comes to preserving our nation above the riff-raff of this crust we call _'earth'_ then I suppose I am a proud 'bully', Archibald Kane. We owe the world absolutely nothing. We've died by the hundreds of millions because we tried to play world police. Panem will remain my top priority, forever and always.

 ** _Blakely:_** …Onto more _local affairs_. According to the Department of Districts' Affairs, the nation is moving along well, but many changes could be made to better the lives of citizens. 20% of school children drop out at Grade 10 to pursuit work. The average salary, bar the Capitol city, is about 10,000 Panemian Sesterces. Drugs such as morplhing plague urban centres among other social issues. **_How do you, the candidates, plan on bolstering President Kane's growth?_** Senator, you shall go first.

 **Kane:** In an interview by the media of my mother, First Lady Cruella Kane a few years prior, she had said that she would get tons of letters from all corners of the nation. In those letters, a plethora of requests were made…more school equipment, lowering the working age for District 12 children to work in the mines. I'll let everyone watching know that under my presidency, these requests end _immediately._ No child in Panem should be working _period,_ unless it's based on convenience not necessity. By cutting overfunded departments, I'm positive wages could see a significant hike within the coming years. Instead of the upper Districts gaining all the grants, I will ensure that each school board within our nation receives the proper resources they deserve.

No longer will the children of Panem be treated as trainable stock.

Drugs are a _scourge_ in our society and I vow to crack down further on unproductive substances such as those. I don't believe that the Capitol should be regulating who consumes what, but when your abuse infringes on the wellbeing of your fellow citizens, I'll see to it that the Peacekeepers enforce the law to the nth degree.

With all this being said, I'm positive a DeWynter presidency would do the exact _opposite_ , giving the Districts crumbs while her friends in higher places continue to live lavishly.

 ** _Blakely:_** Madam President?

 **DeWynter:** I'm not quite sure where my opponent gets these _baseless_ accusations…I mean, we're standing on this stage together, no? I won't apologize for my family rising from the ashes of catastrophe and making a name for themselves.

Nonetheless, I agree partially. The next generation of Panemians should be _better_ than the one that came before it. Panem is a robust nation, and all facets of our society have a role to play in service towards _the state._ I am open to part time work for District 12 youth pertaining to low-risk occupations in the mining industry…alongside the bolstering of the growing health and research industries that have taken hold there…Alongside President Kane's Grade 13 extension request pushed through on _my behest_ after his death, Panemians could expect more educational reforms including school expansions post-secondary expansions and added curriculum respectively.

However, every Panemian from birth has a duty, and duty has a Panemian ready to fill it. I agree that our education – based on necessity – focused on the industry essential to our nation's survival. But with the educational reforms green lighted by myself following Agesilaus Kane's death, I can assure Panemians coast to coast that their prospects will increase as we continue to invest in tertiary services such as merchant retail and finance.

Excessive drug use is a hindrance to the progression of our nation. I am happy, however, to announce that I alongside my bureaucrats that a liquor control board is in the works, controlling drink and other substances.

I've travelled the nation extensively…and one of the things that troubled me was the treatment of our orphans. Having been a patron to many community homes during my tenure as Vice President, the orphans of Panem will be happy to know that support will come under _my_ leadership.

 _ **Kane:**_ … I suppose this is the first and last time I would openly agree with my opponent. This constant rabble about serving _'the State'_ falls on deaf ears. Trust me; I've visited many a region, and I think 25 years of that rhetoric would drive anyone mad.

Again, I'm not convinced that Viondra DeWynter's style is suitable for Panem at large. Take for example the issue of worker's representation and compensation. In order to keep our country alive, our lines of work can sometimes be… _harrowing._ Many have lost their lives, with little compensation – sometimes lasting only a _month._ Can the president explain to Panem tonight her position detailing the opposition against _private unions?_

 ** _DeWynter:_** The state – _The Pan-American Economic Movement, Panem –_ is why we're here. It's why we aren't rubbing sticks together like _Neanderthals_. It's the shunning of the better good in exchange for individual self-gain that sparked _two civil wars._

Private unions are susceptible to persons who only care for their own well being. I'm sure we've all been taught about the 2029 National Strike, among other senseless riots throughout our lifetimes. The nation couldn't bear a shortage due to the works of a selfish few.

I'll have you know, people of Panem, that since taking office I have ordered extra funds to be allocated to the Ministry of Labour, Welfare and Tessarae to improve public works and for the allotment of a nationalized labour union – in conjunction with national corporations such as Capitol Coal, Minerals, Shipping and so on.

Having served and lead Peacekeepers, I understand the work that Panemians endure so that our nation remains strong today, tomorrow and forever. With a nationalized effort overseeing you, I assure you that your labour will be noted…and rewarded.

 ** _Kane_** **:** Viondra DeWynter forgets that during that national strike, the causation for the incursion was the fact that demands weren't being met. The people were worked like _dogs_ , like they still are in some cases, with little to no compensation whilst the Capitol continued to grow and centralize its power. Under my leadership, your voice will NOT be stifled by bureaucrats in the Capitol. You WILL be heard in a privatized setting.

[Applause from the audience.]

 ** _Blakely:_** Please, audience, _settle down_! Now…onto the issue of expansion and emigration. As seen with Snow Island and planned cities across the districts, Panem continues to expand both in arable land and population. District 13 is nearly rebuilt whilst a proposed _District 14_ and _15_ are currently being developed in the Northern Wilds. Meanwhile, as Panem continues reconstruction efforts across the nation, there are growing calls for further emigration rights and free transportation Distirct-wide. This practice has seen limited trials as per to Snow Island and District 12. What say you, candidates? Senator Kane?

 **Kane** : Besides the rebuilding and repopulation of District 13, I believe that the development of even _more_ districts. As of right now, the current system only serves to aid the Capitol whilst leaving the population of the region desolate and lacking infrastructure. Changes have been made, but not enough has been done. As soon as stability has been reached nationwide, expansion would be ill-advised.

…and judging by how we just settled down from a war only two and a half decades ago in which were _still_ feeling the effects, I think my opinion stands solid.

As per emigration, I wholly agree with the notion that we should open our borders and allow free travel between districts without suppression. I imagine there are thousands of families separated by events that transpired nearly one hundred years ago. I would very much like to see them be reunited, as well as Panemians of every stripe having the right of mobility.

 ** _Blakely:_** Ms. DeWynter?

 ** _DeWynter:_** My opponent's views are overly idealistic at best…and detrimental at worst. Since the disasters that razed our population over a century ago, the oil sands in the Northern Wilds serve as an untapped resource which could prove beneficial to Panem's economy. The same goes for the region east of District 6.

When it comes to the issue of inter-district migration…This _privilege_ would need to be highly monitored under my governance. We've seen how this _privilege_ has been used to cause disruptions in the past…as per the Assassination of President Cotton in 2040 whilst touring his hometown and the numerous terror attacks that led up to and into the Dark Days.

I'm all for movement, especially when the districts are diversifying when it comes to industries…however, I believe the Capitol should have ulterior control over this aspect for the reasons stated prior.

 **Blakely:** Senator Kane?

 ** _Kane_** : Let me be clear, fellow Panemians, it's quite obvious that DeWynter does **_NOT_** care about your individual rights that have been suppressed for far too long!

 ** _DeWynter_** : Again with you lamenting about people's **_petty wants!_** In this world of ours, NEEDS surpass all!

 ** _Kane_** : Then why do we NEED to limit the movements of our law-abiding citizens?

 ** _DeWynter_** : Well, contrary to the maps of our nation, not all the land is useable. Cities of old remain destroyed and irradiated. Although these aliments have since settled since the disasters that rocked our land, it is estimated that a thousand or two bands of raiders not beholden to Panemian law still live on the continent.

Instead of trains, however, highway systems and subways within each district are growing at an exceptional rate and will continue to grow under my leadership.

 ** _Kane_** : Officials such as you and I do it, Victors do it during their tours, what's the issue with allowing ordinary citizens to move about the nation freely?

 ** _DeWynter_** : Even if they were, what use would they be to the district they desire to enter? Snow Island economically is a jack of all trades, but we've just started _diversifying industries._ For the time being, most would be no use anywhere else but home. I'm aware of the yearn for change, but change needs to come _slowly_ -

 ** _Kane:_** The people of Panem have been taking things ' _slowly'_ long enough. As I've said, instead of the change the districts deserve, that my father fought until his death for, President DeWynter is content on feeding you crumbs, enough to get you all to _shut up!_

 ** _DeWynter:_** it was your father's haste that led him to the fate he suffered.

 ** _Kane:_** It was my father's ability to speak out against this corrupt system of ours that got him killed. Luckily I am indeed my father's son, because I'll continue his work and see it through until its conclusion.

[Fervent cheers of agreement from members of the audience]

 ** _Blakely:_** Audience, please. If we could hear the final conclusions-

 ** _Kane:_** I shall continue then. It's funny, how my opponent talks about all this change, yet she hasn't yet addressed the elephant in the room-

 ** _Blakely_** : Erm, Senator-

 ** _Kane:_** My father promised to end one hundred years of punishment via death and despair a la the Hunger Games. I'd imagine that my father was killed off for this very reason. Call me delusional, make up your excuses as to why, I don't care. Via executive decree, my father vowed to end the unnecessary suffering of the districts by the fourth quarter quell. Even when the media refused to capture my words, I've made promise after promise to each crowd I viewed, vowing to follow my father's notion.

If elected, would you, Viondra DeWynter – do the same?

 ** _DeWynter:_** You've just explained the situation for me. This order to end the Games was created via executive order. You are aware that the Games are enshrined in our constitution via the Treaty of Treason, correct?

 ** _Kane_** : Would. You. Do. The. Same?

 ** _DeWynter_** : Slow and measured change usurps change based on erratic emotion.

 ** _Kane:_** You see? Need I say any more?

Citizens of Panem, I dream of a nation in which our founding leaders intended – one of liberty, justice and the pursuit of happiness – preserving the characteristics that allowed them to last for over two hundred years. Those very concepts…peace, individual freedom, _democracy,_ have been for a lack of a better word _raped_ by a degenerate few who only wish to line their own conifers at the expense of the nation at large.

Viondra DeWynter is the _prime definition_ of those people.

I implore you to vote with the past one hundred years in mind alongside the actions of my opponent.

 ** _DeWynter:_** My opponent represents the exact stripe of politician that devolved the nation into two rebellions and led us to the founding of Panem as a whole.

I have spent half a decade fighting from one end of this nation to another to preserve peace, order and good government. Many impeccable men and women, such as my brother and your brothers and husbands and sisters **_died_** to achieve this…

 ** _Kane:_** You forget the reason why those fighting against those men and women took up arms in the first place?

 ** _DeWynter_** : …Are you belittling the deaths of countless noble Peacekeepers and millions of sesterces worth of infrastructure damage including Justice Buildings, hydro dams, forests and other resources? I know our predecessor was quite the micromanager, but _really_ Senator?

 _ **Kane:**_ …You and I both know the reason as t-

 ** _DeWynter_** : -I know many of you are swayed by my opponent's sweet whispers of life pre-Panem, but many of you need to realize the effects that selfish indulgence of the _self_ over the collective will have on our _nation_.

Remember, there is many a thing that needs to be fixed in a home. Rushing to fix every nook and cranny would result in unnecessary faults that could've been avoided if we tackled one concern at a time.

The world as we know it is _unstable_ , razed from the disasters that rocked our continent. If just one rod from the _fasces_ comes loose, the entire system fails, but if that stick remains bound with the others, we remain _strong._

I won't skimp the details, power forever and always be concentrated back in the Capitol. With my opponents reckless need to transform our nation without due process; I doubt he has many allies that would help enact his legislation _even if_ the Liberal-Democratic share of seats in the Assembly increase after December 21st.

The only way you'll see genuine change is if you solidify me as your President. Peacekeepers agree, Assemblymen and Senators alike agree, alongside every method of press this nation agrees as well – Viondra DeWynter is the woman for the job.

[Heated murmurs ring out throughout the crowd.]


	11. Can't Say I Didn't Try

_**Eleven:** Can't say I didn't try…_

* * *

 ** _Archibald Kane:_**

 ** _Decision 2162: Panemians Across The Nation Prepare To Cast Their Ballots!_**

 _Whilst Capitol City has all but made up its mind; the Districts on the other hand remain divided!_

 _Election fever sweeps the nation as millions of Panemians across the nation cast their votes in community halls, schools and other meeting points alike!_ Regardless of the snow that blankets districts like One, Seven and Nine, citizens trudge through the hills of white stuff in order to make their voices heard.

 _This election, the first federal contest in **decades** , has seen a voracious battle of ideals between idealistic self-determination proposed by Senator Kane, and the conservative appeal of the collective by President DeWynter. Panemians from coast to coast are divided on who shall lead the nation, with Viondra DeWynter at 51% approval and Archibald Kane just behind at 41%. If history shows us anything about Presidential Elections…things tend to get very **VERY**_ heate-

With a labored sigh, my eyes pivot from the holovision to the expansive map of Panem spread across the wall in front of me. DeWynter's Nationalist Party red dominates the western portion of the nation, the Career Districts, including Snow Island. The light blue of my Liberal-Democratic party has a strong grip on the eastern half, with Nationalist red taking hold on the cities where the more loyal and affluent district-dwellers settle.

It's so telling, this map, that I don't know if it's _funny_ or _sad_. The Districts favored by the Capitol support DeWynter, where as the poorer and more rural voters and outer-Districts lean towards my column.

 _"It's too close to call…"_ I say to Kristoff as he takes a seat beside me. "Who knows who'll come out on top after the dust has settled?"

My senatorial colleague sighs, shrugging as he folds his arms. "Judging by how hard we've been clashing these past months – and what's precisely at stake – no one is losing this race without a _fight_."

"I wanted to win this clean," I reply, "Me beating her serving as a full-fledged rebuke by the people."

"Did you _really_ think that that was going to be the case, Archie?" Kristoff replies. "This past year has been nothing but an illusion, _you know that_."

I find myself chuckling at his words. "Yeah…but I liked acting as if our nation were a healthy one – as if the choices genuine. You can't fault me for being a dreamer."

"That I can't, friend. That I can't…" Kristoff replies, swiveling his chair toward me. "Is the plan in place?"

"A couple hundred ' _civil servants'_ from around the nation are converging on the Capitol as we speak. And by 'civil servants' I mean armed allies. They'll tie up all key ministers and bureaucrats in the government – including Viondra herself, whilst we take power."

"Will they be killed?" inquires Kristoff.

"…If need be yes. Hopefully detained or exiled to the Northern Wilds." I say, turning my attention back towards the television. Viondra DeWynter was on screen now, delivering an interview to Capitol TV.

This is not what I want to do, but this needs to be done. What better way to do it than to cut off the head of the hydra itself? Father would be proud, _wherever_ he is.

Anything to rid ourselves of the poison that has plagued our country for a quarter of a century, he'd be for it. Too bad he wasn't as quick as his adversaries. Hopefully by tonight, Panem will be free of the oligarchic grip it finds itself in. Maybe, just maybe, we could go on being a normal, healthy nation once more – like our founders intended.

* * *

You and I both know that this whole election thing was a sham from the beginning. It all now comes down to who will throw the first punch in a desperate attempt to usurp power. It won't be me, however, because you know – _plausible deniability._

After seeing his father's brains splattered across the streets of District 1 for the nation to see, Archibald Kane should've gotten the message. What's with Rebels and their stubbornness, I don't think I'll _ever_ find out.

Choosing E-Day as my day of rest - I'll need it for _obvious_ reasons – I've decided to spend today with my family and aides, coordinating the effort to get loyalist citizens to the polls as I wait until evening to see what my opponent has in store.

Brushing my teeth, and putting on my 'face' for the day with the help of my team of stylists, I overhear Capitol TV singing my praises as per usual:

" _Even though she was sworn in during a fateful event, the ceremony lacked the pomp and glamour we are attuned to. If she were to win this election, we here at the Capitol TV could imagine that her inauguration would be a splendor to behold!"_

 _Yes, yes it would._

…

Walking down the stairs into the centre hall of our family estate, I see that the work to secure my office is already underway. As Mars and Juniper quickly come to heel at my side, petting them while watching as aides run to and fro whilst phones chime nonstop. In the middle of the hallway floats an electoral map of Panem. Armitage without giving anyone a passing glace, makes a beeline into one of my many studies which Father and Gideon have converted into a 'command post' of sorts. As I lean against the mahogany frame of the parlor, I watch as Armitage places a datapad onto the desk before Father.

"Father, even though the snow is coming down hard in Districts 1 and 2, our get out the vote efforts are working." He announces with glee, sniffling a tad. "The idea to host polling stations in community venues _works._ "

"We already know District 1 and Two are in our column…what about District 11? The Western Corridor is fifty times more loyal than the eastern sector."

Armitage's smile fades. "I've already dealt with them?"

With a tinge of annoyance, Father shakes his head. "You dealt with the snowplows, but not the metro system. Omaha is filled to the _brim_ with votes and we nearly didn't get 'em! You could've cost Vi the election, along with a dozen Assembly seats!"

"Would you like some coffee, Mr. DeWynter?" asks an intern with a toothy smile. "French vanilla perhaps?"

"Armitage doesn't need coffee," Father spits while tossing his tablet onto the oak table. "What he needs to do is make sure that our affiliates in the districts are getting out the vote…among other things."

Judging by Father's softening of his features, his belittling of Armitage must've struck a chord. " _Listen Armi_ …we're just trying to baton down the hatches, okay? We're **_DeWynters,_** we always play to win."

I make my presence known, the jingling of Mars and Junipers' collars prompting the room to turn towards us as I enter.

"You're doing a _Capitol_ job, Armi. I couldn't thank you enough… _all of you really!"_ I say, caressing his shoulder.

"Thanks, Vi…You look good," Armitage smiles, "I'll double check our efforts in the Districts!"

"You do that, son." Says father while turning to me and pulling him into his embrace. "Here we are Viondra…Election Day. I say it all the time, but since I couldn't realize my dream I thought Dick would have a go at it…then he passed away. And now, I have you taking the crown. I couldn't be prouder."

"Thank you, Father." I clap him on the back. "Let's say we continue 'battening down' those hatches?"

…

That's exactly what we do. My team and I spend a quarter of a day coordinating efforts across the nation to secure as much seats as possible – legally _or_ illicitly, it doesn't matter, it all won't matter in a couple of hours if everything goes to plan.

Espresso and lattes transition into copious amounts of energy drinks as I negotiate a total four hundred grand of funds to be wired and split between Districts 6 and 4 for the reelection efforts of Governor McNamera and Del Rio respectively. Because you know…the ballots and voters won't stuff and suppress themselves. You didn't think we'd let rebels _vote_ did you?

By late afternoon, Gideon and my staffers are more than confident that the Capitol region is firmly in the DeWynter/Nationalist Party column, besides a few bohemian precincts.

"They consist of youths predominantly," Says Gideon as I inquired about those rogue precincts. "College kids who took the Kanes' messages to heart."

"Will they become a larger problem do you think?" I ask.

"The youths?" says Gideon. "After tonight, I'd imagine they would."

I turn towards the holovision as I watch crowds cheering the arrival of Panem's Hunger Games victors to Snow Island. Apparently they and their escorts do an annual holiday vacation of sorts. Understanding that getting involved in politics results in their death as per the Second Rebellion, a majority of them wisely decided to remain neutral throughout this election.

Gideon seems to notice my interest in the news coverage of our Victors. "I've been in contact with Minister of Transportation. Don't you worry; the Peacekeepers will keep an extra eye on them, just in case."

"Good." I say. "Thankfully they're all together on an _island_ nonetheless. It surely beats being spread out amongst a politically divided mainland."

…

It is now evening, and I find myself elated that this thing is finally almost over. The debates, the shaking of hands, the constant explaining of ideals to an electorate that doesn't know fuck all about the issues. If Archibald Kane was good at _one_ thing, it was the manipulation of the basic human feeling of ' _wanting'._ It's a destructive feeling…wanting. Like a child in a candy store, deny them and you're in for a torrent of fury or in Panem's case – multiple civil wars. No matter what happens tonight, concessions will need to be made. But no one said anything against giving the bare minimum.

All the major news networks have put down stupid countdown clocks until the polls close in the eastern half of the nation. My siblings have decided to put in a good word for me via interview exclusives with select networks, alongside the usual sacrificial lambs sent out onto various panels to document the historic night.

Surely parties are bound to be in full swing, but for obvious reasons, it's for the best that I remain home. I order my cabinet ministers to stay in groups and consolidate their protection details lest something should happen to them.

As my staffers pack out of our estate and head home to watch the returns, Mother insists I join the rest of the family at the Schlossberg Square Garden for the victory party.

"But tonight is _your_ night, darling!" she croons, "What would possess you not to come along!?"

I gesture towards a sleeping Matilda whose being carried up the stairs by Flavia. "I just want to make sure Mattie is settled in for the night. Besides…I need some time to reflect by myself."

"If you say so…" Mother frowns, her features hardening as she glares at someone over my shoulder. "Young man, hasn't anyone told you that staring is _rude?!"_

I turn around to see a Praetorian Guard at attention against a pillar. I haven't seen him before. He was a dark skinned man, _bald_ with hardened features. My security agents, even if they are fresh recruits, are stoic but _warm_ when approached. This man, however, with his rigid stance and the roll of his eyes as Mother chastised him, was not.

"Where are Agents Dallaire and Hawke?" I ask the man.

"Assigned to your extended family." He says abruptly.

I inquire about the commandant in charge of the Praetorian Guard that no such change was made aware to me. All he does is shrug. I don't press any further.

So Kane has made his move, it seems.

…

" _With the polls now closed in District 12, we can safely say that this district is a split between the Nationalist Party and an independent candidate! The Assembly seat of District 12-City Centre goes to the Nationalist Party candidate while District 12-South is awarded to the independent. In terms of presidential votes, 34,000 votes are awarded for Archibald Kane, 15,000 for DeWynter."_

All I could do was let out a grunt, shrugging at the results. District 12 was expected to be a little haphazard in terms of allegiance. The 'town' as they call it, was reliably Nationalist while the 'seam' decided to buck both parties…an expected outcome.

District 8 is looking the same, with Kane taking the upper hand with the presidential vote and his party taking most of the seat share in the assembly.

From the sofa, I glance towards the dark-skinned Guard. "If you don't mind me asking, who did you vote for?"

"I don't yield to either party. So I abstained." He says. His voice was gruff and _unlike_ any Capitol or District 2 accent I've ever heard…

I press harder. "Okay. If you wanted someone to win, who would that person be?"

"Anyone who upholds peace and stability is good enough to lead." He replies. _The accent sounds forced._

I nod once, dropping the subject altogether. "Fair enough, Agent."

By the time the news reach Central Panem's electoral returns, I hear a loud crash – the breaking of glass – followed by a commotion from right above me… _Mattie's room._

Akin to an animal on alert, I crane my head into the air while jolting out of my seat. Exchanging a glance with the Guard, I quickly bolt from the living room and up the stairs towards Mattie's room…not before ' _adjusting'_ my wrist watch of course.

I scramble through the already open doors. " _Flavia, Mattie,_ is everything alrigh…"

Matilda's room is best described as a mess. My eyes scan the ground, glancing at the blood that peppers it. Following the trail, my eyes meet the sorrowful orbs of Flavia as she clutches her temple – the source of the blood. A female 'Praetorian Guard' holds a pistol to Flavia's head, her free hand gripped around the nape of her neck.

" _Mommy!?_ "

I turn to my right to see Matilda being held in place, rubbing her eyes as a man clutches her by the back of her nightgown. She tries and tries to struggle out of the man's grasp to no avail.

" _Agents_ …what is the meaning of all this!?" I seethe, my eyes darting around to meet the glares of my 'security detail'.

"Madam President," says the dark skinned man, "You're under arrest."

"Under _whose authority_ are you making that call!?" I retort, spinning around to meet him.

My vision flashes white as I'm struck by his pistol. I drop to the ground instantly, my body feeling a thousand times heavier as my brain continues to throb uncontrollably.

"By the authority of every freedom yearning Panemian across the nation." He spits, looming over me with his gun leveled towards my chest.

Rolling onto my back while breathing out one final sigh, Matilda's cries of ' _MOMMY_!' flood my ears as I lull into unconsciousness.

…

As I come too, I let out an airy giggle as the guards continue to bind me to a chair with rope. Mattie, herself tied, continues to weep silently as an unbound Flavia attempts to calm her down. _Odd_ , maybe because she's an Avox they were lenient with her. I take a quick glance of my surroundings, noting that we're on the third floor parlor…We wouldn't want first responders easy access now would we? All in all, there are about _ten_ armed rebels keeping me hostage. Each of them dressed in the black leather tunics of the Praetorian Guard.

"Do you honestly think you'll get away with this?" I snort, sighing slightly. "Do you know the ramifications if this little coup _fails_? Imagine your entire bloodline marked for _death_ – at best poorer than dirt with the Hunger Games collecting each and every youth you birth. At worst? Being executed via live television audience or put to work in one of the many prison camps Panem has to offer… I hear the Northern Wilds are amazing this time of year-"

As his compatriots squirm under my verbal threats, the dark skinned man grips me by the throat as he leans toward me menacingly. His hot breath is already agitating me, rendering my eyes watery.

"You're lucky I don't _end you_ here and now." He sneers. "And trust me, Panem would be much better off with you gone."

"LEAVE MY MOMMY ALONE!"

"Shut _UP_ , you stupid brat!" the man barks, jutting his pistol towards my daughters face. Matilda croaks in fear as Flavia pulls her towards her chest. He notices this, glaring at the Avox in confusion.

"Miss, you're _free_ now, why do you still care for this bitch's _bastard_?"

Flavia scowls at the man, turning her attention towards Mattie who continues to whimper into her chest.

"Contrary to popular belief, I take care of my Avoxes," I trill, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. _You know how long it took me to perfect this bouffant?_ "Flavia has been a good caregiver for my daughter ever since she was born. It's only right that I offer her the same respect."

"Pfft whatever, you Capitol _whore._ I guess I would be loyal to my master too if I were under years of mental abuse such as 'Flavia' here."

I roll my eyes. I've fought and killed people like this man for four years, and played political chess with them for another _decade_. Why are they always so _preachy_ with their beliefs?

He catches my 'attitude', stomping over to me with his pistol pointing toward my head. "Who are you lookin' at with those baby blues? If I weren't under orders I would-"

" _Hayes_!"

We both glance towards the only female of the six rebels that currently keep me captive. They're all district dwellers, I could tell due to their rugged facial features and accents.

" _What is it_ , Karla?" 'Hayes' grumbles.

"They said they wanted 'er alive," says 'Karla'. "She ain't gonna be if you keep goin' on the way you are…"

'Hayes' glances at the woman, glaring back at me as the handle of his pistol strikes my cheek once more.

The strike he delivers across my face resonates throughout the room as I let out a hiss of pain. Mattie shrieks briefly before being abruptly silenced by Flavia. I taste blood in my mouth, spitting it out a wad of it onto the floor as Hayes pivots on his feet and secures the multiple windows throughout the parlor.

"Who's _the_ y…Archibald Kane and his gaggle of insurrectionists?" I inquire, running my tongue against my teeth – none chipped or loose _thank Panem._ "All of you appear to be my age – former rebel insurgents perhaps. I see that Kane has filled your brain with false hope like Everdeen did. Are you guys trying for 3-0 this time?"

"For nearly _one hundred **fucking** years _we've been waiting for an announcement like yours following President Kane's murder," seethes Hayes. "I'll be _damned_ if I see a process like this blown to hell because a few Capitols can't stand sharing their goodies with everyone else!"

I opt to say nothing, instead using the moment of silence to glare at the men that hold me captive and relish as they attempt to avoid my eyes. The sunburst clock above the holovision console says 11 o'clock. The returns for the Capitol region, District 1 and portions of District 2 should be coming in by now…I wonder how things are going. Surely the closer to the Capitol, the more fervent the support for my rule would be?

Our assailants must be wondering the same thing as well, as Hayes motions his pistol towards one of his partners. The other man quickly turns on the holovision. My vision is flooded with images of the Capitol on fire, Capitol Guardsmen engaging in firefights with insurgents, members of my cabinet being rushed into limousines by agents, crowds of supporters from both the Nationalists and Lib-Dems trading blows in the streets.

 ** _ELECTION SPIRALS INTO CHAOS AS INSURGENTS RAID CAPITOL! – REPORTS OF KEY GOVERNMENT OFFICALS TAKEN HOSTAGE!_**

 _"Chad Blakely here with a PBC News special report…As of 11PM Capitol time, it seems that an armed skirmish has broken out throughout the Capitol…The regional health services report injuries to be in the hundreds as the Capitol Guardsmen engage the threats. Listeners, please bear with us as information is flooding in as we speak. It seems that um…Archibald Kane and his entourage have entered the Presidential Mansion…erm, it is unknown where President DeWynter is, nor where her cabinet is at this time. Sources say Archibald Kane is preparing to address the nation as we speak, again, President DeWynter's status is unknown, nor is the status of the executive branch."_

With all this bushwah going on, I can't help but smirk as the Nationalist Party Is still in the lead, with 250 seats in the Assembly compared to the Lib-Dem's _80_. With sixty percent of the vote reported nationwide, I lead with _forty five_ against Kane's _forty four._

…So what my spooks have been saying were _true_. Archie Kane seems to have more gall than his old man...Can't fault him for that.

Karla notices my cocky simper as she scowls at me. "That tally is bullshit and you know it!"

"So? Even if it was, this doesn't look good for the opposition." I say, coughing as my head continues to throb from the blows it was given. "What do you plan on doing with me and the hundreds of thousands of other civil servants you've rounded up?" I inquire, gazing at the pacing Hayes as he shoots me a glance.

"As soon as we get our marching orders from this here communicuff, you'll know." He says.

"Very well…" I nod, letting out a sharp gasp as my watch begins to vibrate against my lower back. Perplexed, Hayes and Karla turn towards me with their weapons drawn. I'm quick to cover my exclamation, however.

"Where's my house staff?" I pipe up, "The other Avoxes, cooks, etcetera?"

"Who knew a spoiled Capitol like you could care so much…" mutters Hayes. "If you must know, they're confined in the kitchen in the basement."

I frown, making a show of dropping my shoulders. "That's unfortunate…for the _guards_ that is."

The stone-faced mug of Hayes falters, his communicuff hand raised to his mouth as he begins to bark orders into the device.

"Dougherty, Gulyaz, this is Hayes, _report_!"

"They _are_ in the basement…maybe its interference?" quips a Guard.

Hayes stifles a groan. "Then try the _ground floor team then_!"

Karla, who continues to stare angrily at me, tries her communicuff. "Borges, Lukowski, report!"

As the room floods with static Hayes' expression quickly changes into one of despair as he motions to two men standing near the fireplace. "Ramirez, Humphreys, go meet up with the ground floor team and check out the basement."

The two guards nod, quickly leaving the room whilst shutting the double doors. Karla is about to contact them again as a flurry of gunshots resonate through the manor. I can't help but grin as the gargled cries of Hayes' lackeys follow suit. Ten rebel assassins are now _eight._

Hayes knows the jig is up, gesturing for the men to carry me towards the western corner of the room, near the fireplace. "Alright, time to relocate! If you know what's good for you, you'll shut your fuckin' mouths!"

"It seems the cavalry has arrived…" I chirp, stifling my grunt as I'm shoved against the wall. Mattie and Flavia follow suit. Slowly but surely, Hayes, Karla and their men train their rifles towards the double doors in which their comrades entered and never returned.

Doubling back towards me, the smirk never leaves my lips as Hayes' face scrounges into a scowl.

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about-"Turning over my palm, I reveal my golden watch – the face rapidly blinking red.

Leveling his pistol towards my forehead, he never gets to put me down as the room devolves into a flurry of activity.

The double doors explode, prompting my captors to open fire at what appears to be _nothing._ Distracted by the explosion the windows behind two of the men explode as well, with at least one of the rebels being tossed out by an unseen force. The second man is struck violently, his body riddled with plasma bolts. Eight captors turn to three, as they're systematically shot and stabbed to death.

My heart soars as Mars and Juniper bolt in from the double doors, pouncing on Karla and another Guard and devouring them.

Hayes doesn't wait, as he grips me by the neck and presses his pistol into my temple. Mars and Juniper each let out a low snarl, disregarding the minced bodies of their victims as they now turn their attention to the lone rebel.

"…Back off!" Hayes threatens, his tough demeanor now dissolved. His fear knows no bounds, even his _pistol_ trembles against my temple. Although seeming as if we were at an impasse, the noticeable sound of a knife entering flesh could be heard, and my neck suddenly feels wet.

Stumbling until my back slams against the wall, Mattie, Flavia and I watch the pathetic sight of a dying Hayes. His pistol clattering to the floor, Hayes stumbles to and fro while blood gushes from both neck and mouth, an imposing combat knife juts from one end of his neck and out the other. As his maw opens and closes, only unintelligible gargling could be heard as he drops to his knees – his hands raised into the air as if he were drowning.

All my years in the service still doesn't prevent me from gasping with Flavia and Mattie as Hayes is struck by a ray of violet, imploding his head and sending gore spewing in all directions. What was once a pristine living room is now a _warzone –_ bodies of our captors were strewn everywhere,light smoke wafting throughout the room with tinge of ozone flooding my nose.

"You've arrived just in time, Agents." I say, watching as Agent Dallaire and Agent Amelia Hawke burst into the room – their weapons drawn.

Agent Hawke lets out a sigh, bringing her communicuff to her mouth. " _Radiance and Rosebud_ are secure."

"Are you alright, Your Excellency?" inquires Dallaire, placing his rifle on the ground as he proceeds to unbind Matilda and myself. "I knew those change of orders were off…Thank Panem these rebels weren't synced to your emergency beacon."

I jostle my head to and fro. "I'm a little rough around the edges, but otherwise ok. Thank you for your response. Panem knows what would've happened if this plot succeeded."

Amelia smiles softly. "I'm afraid we're not the ones that need thanking, Madam."

As Matilda breaks out of Flavia's grasp and clings to my side, a squad of Special Operations Peacekeepers materializes from out of thin air – their black armor contrasting with the typical white of a standard soldier. While the others secure the room, the lead Peacekeeper, a lieutenant, discards their helmet with a soft hiss to reveal a dark-skinned female.

I meet her silent gaze. " _Thank you_ lieutenant, for your masterful work here tonight."

My beloved hyena muttations are quick to remind me of their presence, playfully nudging me with their noses. " _And you two_ of course…who could forget about my lovelies?"

Without a word, the Lieutenant nods, extending her forearm to me as her communicuff comes to life. I'm face to face with the holographic image of Field Marshal Linda Parangosky – my Chairwoman of the Headpeacekeeper Council and Headpeacekeeper of the Armies.

 _"President DeWynter, thank Panem you're alright."_

"FM Parangosky, give me a situation report."

 _"Rebels, ma'am…"_ the Headpeacekeeper seethes, _"The entire region is crawling with them. However, with you recovered and Archibald Kane in custody, the insurgents and their benefactors will soon fall."_

My ears perk with the news. "Archibald Kane has been arrested? Good work. Are you aware of the location of my cabinet?"

 _"But of course,"_ She replies, _"I can gladly report that your family alongside your cabinet is safe in an undisclosed locale."_

"Good. Assemble the National Security Council, this dog and pony show ends _tonight_."

Parangosky respectfully inclines her head. _"As you wish, Your Excellency._ I'll send the information to Lieutenant Jones' cuff. _"_ and disconnects the call. Agent Dallaire and Lieutenant Jones exchange a glance as their communicuffs ring out simultaneously.

"Our orders are to take you to the rendezvous point until we've mopped up the remaining rebels in the city." says Agent Dallaire, "The situation is still developing, so I'd like it if you hurried ma'am."

I wave my hand dismissively. "There's no rush…I imagine this manor is _crawling_ with Peacekeepers. Now if you don't mind…" I begin, moving from off the wall and motioning for Flavia to take Matilda. "I would like to take a _bath_. Take Mattie and Flavia along while I wash up."

"I'll watch over the child and the Avox while your men look after the President." Says Lieutenant Jones, nodding off towards the now destroyed double doors, "I'll get my men to hold and secure here until you're ready to move, ma'am."

Placing a hand on her shoulder, I then shift my attention to Matilda, who continues to gaze at me with the look of a saddened puppy. Snow knows how she'll decipher all this. Consider it a beginning in a series of lessons she'll never forget. They'll be most beneficial when _she_ seeks power.

"Could you stay with Flavia and the nice Peacekeepers for me?" I chirp, planting a kiss on her forehead as she nods slowly.

Clasping Flavia's hands with my own, I release them, staggering into the hallway with my agents in tow. It is from where I watch as Peacekeepers and Praetorian Guards alike escort manor staff off the premises - their hands raised in the air. Both Guards and Staff alike gawk at me as I make my way toward my bedroom chamber.

Agent Hawke leans into my ear. "Would you like me to recall your prep team?"

"No," I say, casually stepping over the body of a dead rebel. "Let the people see what selfishness has wrought."

With curt nod from Agent Hawke, we continue to make our way to my bedroom.

…Well, you couldn't say I didn't try _right_? In our game of political 'Chicken', Kane _blinked._ If I were to lose, would I have made it so that _he_ didn't attain power? Well _of course_ I would have, but I _didn't_. Kane takes the fall as the tyrant he pegged me to be while _I_ get to feign the victim who just wanted Panem to remain secure. I imagine that Archie Kane isn't doing so well, knowing how bad this must make him look after spending so many months building himself up to be some sort of second coming of _Katniss Everdeen._

With the presidency now secure, and my legitimacy established, I believe it's now time I've _asserted_ myself.


	12. The DeWynter Dynasty

**_Twelve:_** _The DeWynter Dynasty_

* * *

 ** _ARE YOU "IN THE KNOW"?! – YOUR NEWS THIS WEEK, DECEMBER 21st -30TH, 2162_**

 ** _*A Panem Broadcasting Corporation Newsreel_** ** _MMCLXI*_**

 ** _Voiced By: Chad Blakely_**

"DEWYNTER WINS – REBELS THWATED IN ATTMEPT TO OVERTHROW GOVERNMENT!"

There are many names given for the events that transpired on the night of December 21st, 2162. 'The 'Rebellion of 2162', 'The Capitol City Crisis' so on and so forth. We here however at the PBC have coined this travesty as **_'The Night of Flashing Lights'._**

 _Yes, The Night of Lights…As PBC correspondents tirelessly crossed the Capitol Region in order to keep you updated on the events that transpired that early morning; the most prominent scenes were convoy upon convoy of Peacekeeper and Government vehicles zipping from locale to locale._

 _The reason? A couple thousand unsanctioned district dwellers with rebel ties to the Second Rebellion stormed the Capitol in order to take control of various government institutions as well as to kidnap chief civil servants._

 _The result? Portions of the Captiol City Region remained tattered until this day, millions of sesterces worth of damage due to the actions of a dastardly few. Hundreds lay dead, while hundreds more are in custody as Capitol Guardsmen moved to quell the rebels and riots as they occurred. It doesn't end in the Capitol. Cities across Panem were engulfed in rashes of violence in the early morning of the 22nd following the chaos in the Capitol. These riots have been since quelled._

 _The ringleader of this civil disturbance you ask?_

 _Well, President Agesilaus Kane rolls in his grave as his very own son – Liberal-Democratic Senator Archibald Kane – alongside his co-conspirators, allowed for this terror to take place in order for **HIM**_ to seize power. Watch him now as he strolls into the Presidential Mansion as the rightful president – Viondra DeWynter, was held hostage in her manor in Elysium Heights. Reports say that little Matilda DeWynter was also home at the time. Gods knows how Panem's First Daughter is dealing with that ordeal.

The PBC and affiliate broadcasters won't show his disgraceful speech to you all tonight. We are glad to say that Kane was forcibly removed from the State Office during his diatribe.

 ** _CRIME AND PUNISHMENT!_**

 _Justice was served fast, as Archibald Kane and his lackeys were before Chief Magistrate Katherine Odin and her Justices under the charge of high treason. Ms. Odin had plenty to say to the hundreds of rebel conspirators, some prominent names including Senator Kristoff Haversmith and Ursula Jordan. His head raised in defiance, Chief Magistrate Odin reads his sentence._

 _"I think I speak for my fellow Justices when I say I am PROUD to deliver the sentences we have decided upon today. Archibald Kane, as per Section 46 of the Criminal Code of Panem, this court finds you GUILTY of said charge. Your punishment is **exile**." _

_Just listen to the roar of applause from the gallery as justice is served._

 _For the other low-level conspirators who struck terror into the hearts of law-abiding Capitolites, they were sentenced to **death by muttations.**_

 _"As I always like to say, this a very **simple** ruling. The remedy for treason is simply __death_ _. People need to **think** before threatening our Capitol. Senator Kane is lucky he was spared from this."_

 ** _*The executions will commence at 9PM Capitol Time. Viewing is MANDATORY*_**

 _ **VICTORY - PRESIDENT DEWYNTER CONFIRMED AS PANEM'S PRESIDENT!**_

 _What a formidable president Panem has. With her cheek slightly bruised from the abuse she endured, she stands before Panem's newly elected National Assembly. Look how some of the seats remain vacant – their holders arrested as a part of Kane's gaggle of rebels._ President DeWynter remains as magnificent as ever – **_defiant even._**

 _"People of Panem, I stand before you pleased to announce that Archibald Kane and his plot to overthrow the National Government has been dismantled at the seams, and that his co-conspirators here and throughout the country are being hunted down and brought to justice!_

 _Now when I addressed you for the first time in this very assembly just over a year ago, I meant very much to keep those promises I made. This attack has left me invigorated and resolute to pursuit a nation based on peace, order and a strong and prosperous state!_

 _As you may know, Panem has seen three republics during our century and a half of existence. This, our Third Republic, has seen nothing but inefficiencies and strife. **No longer!** In order to pursuit peace, order and a prosperous state, I hereby declare this republic **OVER**! I welcome the **Fourth Panemian Republic** with open arms! _

_May the Fourth Republic be a million times more prosperous than the last! May we realize that only together though mutual cooperation can Panem continue to be the bastion of organized civilization!_

 _Panem Today, Panem Tommorow, Panem **Forever!** "_

 _The vigorous applause from the assembly floor is all one needs to hear to know that Her Excellency's speech is one for the history books._

 _May President DeWynter's reign be as long as the Gods are willing._

 ** _***You can watch President DeWynter's Inauguration on January 20th, 2163. ***_**

 ** _Well, now you know!_**

* * *

 _A Fourth Panemian Republic_ …Gideon _did say_ a little red meat would go a long way.

Even though it's been at least fourty-eight hours since my passionate speech before the nation, my intelligence services say that public spaces throughout the nation are abuzz with the possibilities of what my announcement brings forth. Some remain pessimistic, but _some_ doesn't matter – as long as the majority continue to lap up their placebos like kittens to milk, I'm content.

The youths at the various universities Panem has have gone nuts following my declaration, their history departments going as far as to design a new flag for the nation…within the _twenty-four hours_ since I requested it be done. I can't mock their drive...

I look at the flag now, folding one leg over the other as fondle the ears of Mars and Juniper with both hands.

"I can see why it only took you guys twenty four hours..." I muse.

A UofP Professor, a graying lady with pink cat-eye glasses, straightens her cardigan. "I'd find that to be a good thing, Your Excellency," she says, stifling a cough. "It's only once in a _blue moon_ do we ever see the Panem Institute of Technology, The Panem Military College or the University of Panem actually _agreeing_ on something."

An Officer-Cadet from the College is quick to pipe up. "As you can see, Your Excellency, the flag still retains its simple yet _powerful_ imagery – the bald eagle, olive branches and talons full of arrows…"

A mousy student from the PIT jumps in. "-Adding the gold bars on both top and bottom of the banner shows that Panem is a nation of vast wealth, the red showing that through the blood and suffering of our ancestors forms a government – the eagle – willing to preserve and defend peace by any means necessary – the talons full of arrows."

"Mm," I mew, my lips curling into a slight smirk as the concept becomes _much_ clearer now. The flag does carry a more immense feeling of power than the flag of the Third Republic.

"I _love_ it," I say, baring my pearly whites. "I'll be sure to inform the correct departments in order to get this design mass produced immediately. Of course we'll need to run it by a committee vote, but I'm sure they'll adore it too."

…

Fast forward to the 31st of December, Archibald's date of exile is upon us. As you can imagine, I would very much prefer to be back in the Capitol preparing for the New Year's festivities. But alas, I'm here on the scraggy coast of District 3, 'seeing off' Archibald Kane and his co-conspirators.

…Well, at least it's early in the morning; I have the rest of the day to myself.

"How long is this going to take!?" I hiss, securing my ushanka over my head.

"Not too long," replies Aristella Belliard, my _Secretary of State_ for Districts' Affairs. "Look, there they are now."

Through the light blizzard, I alongside my entourage watch on as a convoy Peacekeeper SJ-7's pull into the clearing. Dismounting under heavy Peacekeeper guard is none other than Archie Kane _himself_ , alongside his wife; his mother and former First Lady Cruella Kane and senior aides who helped up concoct his little failed coup. As much as his cuffs could allow him, he adjusts the sleeves of his trench coat before being shoved along towards us. I can't help but frown as his children seemed to have come along too. Sad…but it prevents others from his line from getting inspiration from the events that transpired.

I can't help but smile my face off as he stops just five feet away from me. He and his family return my smile with a look that if it could – would strangle me stiff.

"Archibald Kane." I trill, glancing at his family. "Cruella, Josephina…you look well."

"Your ' _Excellency'_ …what a promotion. You'd think your ego was big enough." He spits, stepping in-between his mother and wife as they recoil away in apparent shame.

I raise my hands in faux surrender, only dropping them to calm my angered pet hyenas. "It's not _my_ fault _you_ showcased the system for what it was…a nation still embattled with the results of the Second Rebellion. A few… _constitutional changes_ were needed. It's for the betterment of the nation."

He rolls his eyes. I can't help but lap up his agitation. "You keep telling yourself that. I was in the _right_ , _we_ were in the right…I only wish we could've succeeded. Or better yet, I wish I'd ordered them to just _kill you_ then and there."

"Whatever happened to clean politics?" I say with a faux frown. "It seems your father didn't rub off on you all that much in that regard…"

"DON'T bring my grandfather into this!" barks Nina, lunging towards me only to be apprehended by a Peacekeeper.

"You used to be so nice! Why are you so _mean_ now?!" pipes up another one of Kane's children.

I ignore the rambles of his daughter, instead turning my attention back to the disgraced Senator.

It seems Kane has had enough, as he caresses his temples. "Olivia, please _shhh._ Where is our hovercraft, DeWynter?"

I turn around as my entourage follows suit. "Full tank of fuel, with automatic coordinates to the shore of Australia. There you can join the rest of your _misguided_ ilk."

Shrugging off a Peacekeeper, he leads himself, his family and the rest of the high ranking traitors towards the hoverplane as we follow. A Peacekeeper awaits at the loading ramp, unlatching each and every handcuff as each exile boards the hoverplane. Their heads were hung low as the press began filming for their newsreel. Kane was the last to board the plane, stopping to kiss his wife before turning to me.

"I for one am glad I'll never see you again. Maybe now my children and wife could live a normal life without excessive opulence and degeneracy."

I shrug. "I share the same sentiment."

He mutters something under his breath, turning his back toward me as he makes his way up the stairs.

I wave. "Farewell, Archibald Kane. Maybe your life will be better in your next destination."

Aristella joins me by my side, watching as the hoverplane slowly ascends into the sky before flying off into the horizon of the Grand Pacific Ocean.

"I suppose that's the end of him…" she says, shielding her eyes as she continues gaze at the craft.

I pivot on my heels, casually making my way towards the awaiting limousine. "Yes...I suppose it is."

As I continue my walk towards the limousine, I ignore the loud *THUMP* that resonates through the air, the immense heat that licks my cheeks, alongside the startled exclaims of my aides and Peacekeepers alike.

…

Kane wasn't without co-conspirators in the foreign realm, either. With both Kane's dispatched, my Peacekeepers and intelligence operators rounding up and tagging each and every known surviving rebel worth their salt, it was about time I establish how things are going to be on the _world stage_ from now on.

…

"How are they?" I chime, my heels clicking against the tiles of the East Wing hallway as my gaggle of aides follow after me.

FM Parangosky is the first to pipe up. "Admiral Hansson's fleet lays one hundred nautical miles off the Australian coast. They've been met with Confederation ships but the situation remains dormant. I've alerted our forces to be on _Alert Condition 2,_ as per your request."

I smile. " _Good_."

"Permission to speak freely, Your Excellency?"

I scoff. "Linda, we're hardly boss-subordinate…"

"I'm glad the Panem I know and love is back _stronger_ than it was prior."

I nod to the aide who activates the heavy sliding doors for us. " _Likewise_ , Field Marshall."

…You see, what I disliked the most about my _predecessor –_ Agesilaus Kane – was his passiveness. Being passive with the rebels on your own soil is one thing, _Snow_ , we just battered them in a war twenty years ago, but to be passive with a foreign entity is another thing entirely. Everyone agrees with me in this regard, but alas, I was a lowly Vice President. And now, _I'm_ in charge. And it's about time I make Panem's new managerial style be known.

…What was the famous saying again? _Speak softly, but carry a big stick?_ I dispel that notion. In this day in age I think speaking voraciously while smashing that stick around is a much more effective approach.

…

I enter the conference room now, used mostly to speak to foreign governments via holoscreen. Aides from the Foreign Affairs Ministry are already here, quickly backing away from the long table as soon as they spot me. As one of them wheels out a seat for me, I take it, settling in with my entourage as I come face to face with a plethora of images of various world leaders…The United Democratic People's Republic of Korea, the Eurasians, the British, the French, and the South West Africans…

The most notable out of all the faces, however, is the image of President Joseph Matthews of the Australian Confederation and his ilk – the leaders from the waterlogged Japan, Philippines and Taiwan.

Also in attendance is the Council of Nations General Secretary Karl Anheuser – our referee when issues threaten to get out of hand."

"Miss DeWynter," Anheuser begins in his thick Swiss accent. "…Would you care to explain what this military buildup is all about?"

With nothing but a causal smile on my lips, I motion for my ** _'Peacemaker',_** an atomic satchel always held by a Peacekeeper standing a little ways away. The room remains silent as I swipe and tap away on this special holographic tablet.

As I tap one final time, a video image pops up on the conference screen. The video showcases the camera from one of Panem's naval vessels, a missile streaking from out of its bow.

The exclaims of shock from my fellow world leaders are priceless. I may just playback a recording of this exchange on my free time when this is all over.

President Matthews' cybernetic eye flashes red with apparent anger. "What in the bloody hell is this, Viondra?! What type of stunt are you trying to pull?!"

"Wants, wants, wants…That's the thing with you people…wanting, but never _needing_. It's such a tedious and disruptive trait." I scowl, lighting up a cigarette holder and taking a drag. "Dealing with it within one's own borders is one thing, but an _entire region?_ _My oh my…_ "

"What is the meaning of this?!" inquires the Empress of Japan.

"Every concession…every leeway we give. China's coast…backing off from New Guinea and Indonesia –"

Matthews has had enough, apparently, the banging of fists are audible on my end. "WHAT ARE YOU _**DOING**_!? WHAT IS THAT MISSILE FOR?!"

I let off a casual shrug. "Destroying our newly jointly-launched satellite _of course._ Remember that idiotic space mission my predecessor authorized? I for one am tired of our trust being abused by a foreign nation trying to abuse and manipulate my country's destiny. Speaking to a Panemian Senator with promises of foreign invasion, _really_?"

Before any delegate from the confederation could speak, artificial intelligence systems Vi and Pax are quick to interject. The holographic images of the two cryptic children appear on screen with the rest of them.

"We live in a _small small_ world," chirps Vi.

" _Especially_ when it pertains to _incoming and outgoing_ phone calls of a foreign nature." says Pax. "The President _never_ took a foreign call from any leader since she took office, only the _Foreign Minister.._."

"That's quite nefarious, _especially_ when the perpetrator claims to be an agent of supposed democracy…" finishes Vi.

Their flabbergasted faces make me want to guffaw, but I refrain.

"…If you dare destroy that satellite, it'll be considered an act of war." Says an Australian Delegate.

I shrug once more. "That's something I'm willing to risk. Panem is a _grand region._ I doubt some rustic Dong Feng missiles or whatever you managed to scrounge up armament wise would impede us extensively. You on the other hand…there's not much room on Taiwan to run… _or_ Japan, _OR_ the Philippines."

"And then there's the main island itself…"

"We have countermeasures-" President Matthews says instantly, his voice twinges with _what_ – sadness, anger and disbelief all wrapped up into _one_?

"-Sure, you have one location that may prove hard to destroy," I say, ignoring him. "But imagine having to live under a dome for the rest of your existence, the land surrounding you razed with nuclear ash and organic monstrosities clawing at your door?"

"How did you plan on getting them over here…If this coup succeeded and my government was distracted enough? By the time our early warning sites spotted your flotilla, there wouldn't be much of a force to land if half your fleet was destroyed before it reached our shores."

"Your Excellency!" says my Aide-de-camp, "The ASAT is breeching the thermosphere!"

"Miss DeWynter, I beg you to reconsider this approach…" pleads Anheuser.

"That's all on my colleagues from 'down under'. So…" I muse, folding one leg over the other. "What will it be? World War Four…or…?"

The rest of the remnants of the world's leaders look on with silent shock as the Confederation screens are now replaced with the seal of their nation. However their fervent and hushed arguments could be heard. President Matthews returns to the screen, his face stricken with grief.

"What do you want, Viondra…?"

I _love_ that defeated tone…it makes me _feel_ a certain way. I smile, motioning to my Aide-de-camp. "Abort the strike, Major."

After a minute of reciting phonetic English to the naval vessel that launched the missile, my Aide-de-camp informs me that the missile has self-destructed after piercing the exosphere. I turn my attention back to the screen once more.

"Every inquiry involving Panem and Australian Confederation relations will be brought _here_ – to the Council of Nations via _our respective foreign departments._ After betraying Panem's trust after aiding you with countless concessions, I don't think the AC is deserving of a hotline unless it involves China or any other backwater region on this rock that poises a significant threat – which I _doubt_ – in which case Panem doesn't want to hear about it. Heed this, and all territorial boundaries will continue to be observed and respected by Panem. _Am I clear?_ "

I'm treated with the same shocked silence… as if their entire world has come crashing down! But their silence is enough. I know my stance has been understood loud and clear.

"Good." I smile, leaning towards the screen. "Have a happy 2163."

With a snap of a finger, the transmission is disconnected.

…

The next week consisted of a media blitz of epic proportions, filled with public relations events celebrating this new republic I've declared. I give a speech to my election supporters and Panem at large. It was a speech of passion, nailing down all the important talking points - unity, service to the state, so on and so forth. _Snow_ …I even hosted a mass swearing in of all the Councilmen and Councilwomen elected to the _Grand Assembly,_ not to mention hosting a constitutional signing at the Presidential Mansion involving _all eleven_ governors of the districts plus Snow Island and Twelve's mayor.

Because you know...That _red meat_ analogy holds immense weight. My promises are nothing crazy in regards to **_your_** standards of living – better schools, more independence from the Capitol, higher wages, and expansion of industry, so on and so forth. It's enough to get the districts to quit moaning.

Even though I bestowed it upon myself, I can't get over hearing the term ' _Your Excellency'_ , _Her Excellency_ … … _Excellency, Excellency, Excellency_ …I could be called that title all day and not tire of it. I haven't even been inaugurated yet and people use the honorific _regardless_. I did single-handedly ' _better_ ' the nation, after all…

"President-Elect DeWynter, on a scale of one to _one hundred,_ how excited are you for your upcoming inauguration?" Asks Marceline Devereaux. Her audience leans in, curious to hear the answer.

"A _million_ ," I say with a beaming smile, prompting the audience to clap and cheer like the seals they are.

"What are you going to wear?! Pleaaaaaaaaase tell us something, ANYTHING?!"

"You'll just have to wait and see." I say simply.

…

Antonius Rose, my on-again-off-again paramour, leans against the door frame of his well-to-do townhouse, an amused smile plastered on his lips.

"Ah…so the President of Panem has time for one of her lowly subjects?"

I simply return the smile. "Are you going to let me in?"

Without a word, he gestures for me to come in. Through the light snowfall I turn to the closest Agent in my security detail.

"I'll be only an hour or two."

Even though its weeks until the inauguration itself, I find myself growing tired of the constant appearances and interviews – being held on a social pedestal. I tire of people having to 'check' themselves because of my title. I imagine that it's easier being a male, however being a _woman_ looking the way I do, it was easy to work my way up the proverbial ladder of success during my earlier years in the political foray. It's quite lonely at the top, it seems.

 _However_ , as far as I know, there's no rule about _'going down a floor'_ , if only for an _hour or two_?

"What are you getting at…?" Antonius says evenly, breaking away from our passionate kiss. We sit here now in his living room, me straddling him, the flames from the fireplace adding that extra layer of _comfort_ to it all. We've each had a dozen glasses of wine, which helps me immensely with ' _getting down those stairs'_ to the next floor.

With my dress hanging halfway off my body, I quickly remove my earrings and necklace, my lips locking with his once more.

"All I want is to feel _normal_ …If only for a little while...No President DeWynter, no Minister Rose. Just Viondra and Antonius," I breathe, my manicured nails working at the buttons of his shirt. "Just like old times back at military college, hm?"

"Things were simpler back then…" He replies, his hands snaking around my hips.

"…They could be simple _here and now,_ too." I sooth, as I capture his lips with one last kiss before falling into a world of heated passion.

…

"Madam President, Gideon Montresor here to see you?"

"Send him in!" I say, watching the double doors as my Chief of Staff appears. Adjusting the cuff of his suit, and then his browline glasses, he makes his way into one of my loungers just before my desk.

"Good morning, Viondra."

"Good morning, Gideon." I smile as an Avox delivers beverages. "Could I interest you in some French vanilla, coffee, tea?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "No thanks, I've already had my fill. I come here asking if you acknowledge my letter of resignation effective January 20th."

I give my head a lopsided jostle. "Partially."

His brows furrow. "… _Partially_? I don't follow."

"Like you said," I begin, sipping my tea, "A little 'red meat' goes a long way. However, I have one last piece that needs tossing to the mutts."

"And what's that?" he inquires, leaning in.

" _The Office of the Prime Minister of Panem_ ," I word quite simply, folding my hands on my flat yet combative stomach, I smile at the older man. "I want _you_ to have it."

"I'm just a _bureaucrat_." He replies instantly. "I advise in _political_ judo, not _engage_ in it. Besides, the office of Prime Minister hasn't been in use since prior to the Dark Days-"

" _Exactly_ ," I exclaim, leaning in over my desk. Again with the nausea…today is _not_ my day. "The Fourth Republic is based on _red meat._ What better rare stake to feed to the swarm than a nostalgic position as _prime minister._ The dichotomy is _changing_ , Mister Monresor. In order to appear as if normal Panemians can attain high office, the premiership would work _wonders_. Who better to reintroduce the position than a steady, nonconforming, nonpartisan hand such as _Gideon Montresor? So,_ what do you say?"

With that knowing smile creeping on his lips, he reclines in his seat – deep in thought. Gideon would be the _perfect_ man for the job. His fashion is muted, on par with the rest of the districts which makes him relatable. And due to his skill with policy and government intricacy, he'll oversee a good ship, halving my responsibilities. Besides…Panem is mainly run on a ceremonial and stately basis. I remain the head, while he and other trusted secretaries of state carry out the day-to-day functioning of the country.

What could _possibly_ go wrong?

He's about to offer an answer when the nausea I feel becomes too much to bear.

"Excuse me, Gideon…" I say, quickly stumbling towards my bathroom. "I don't feel so well."

 _…_

Making my way out of the bathroom for the dozenth time in a span of weeks, I come face to face with the Presidential Mansion Physician.

"You always tell me not to beat around the bush." She says, handing me a document. "Congratulations Your Excellency, you're about _eight weeks_ with child."

I freeze for a moment, but come back down to earth once I recall the circumstances. "You don't say? Hmph…"

The doctor nods. "…If you're not feeling well-"

"Its _inauguration_ _day_ , _nothing_ could ruin this momentous day…not even morning sickness." I reply, fixing my pillbox hat while making my way to the door. When I'm gone, I'll need children to carry on my legacy. Matilda is a special case and I'm not getting any younger...as much as I'd like to believe so. " _Thank you_ , captain. I hope to see you at the inaugural ball this evening."

" _Which one_?" She jokes, to which I reply with a soft laugh and a shrug.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Father asks, leading the rest of the family to their feet as I enter the hallway.

"Hopefully it's a _boy_ , then I can name him _Richard_." I trill, walking past the astonished yet amused Agents Dallaire and Hawke, knowing that _their_ expressions are reflective of that to my families.

"Did you hear that?" asks Armitage to Matilda, who sits on the lap of her uncle. "You might have a _brother or sister_ soon!"

…

" _Wait, wait, wait!"_ insists Father, stopping us before doors leading towards the City Circle. We listen, stopping as father beckons for a Praetorian Guard. The Guard brings with him a satchel, and in that satchel is a bottle of _wine_ alongside another bottle.

"Couldn't wait to rub it in, Father?" I muse, adjusting my dress as my hand moves to the bump that's yet to appear.

"Thank Panem _I'm_ just coming out, and _you're_ going in. Welcome to nine months of hell, Viondra!" jeers Violet.

Father joins in the chorus of laughter that follows. "It's not like that, darling. _Besides_ , I brought a brought sparkling juice as well. I thought that, since we're all going to be a little… _splifficated_ later, I thought we could share this moment before turning a chapter in our family's history."

"Why not?" replies Vivian, "A little _dry run_ wouldn't harm anyone?"

With a round of shrugs, we each take a cup. Wine for them, celebratory juice for _yours truly._

"Here you go, Vi," says Armitage, passing me a chalice as I thank him.

"How does it feel to actually… _'earn it'_ , Viondra?" asks my brother Raymond, "Notwithstanding the entire ' _hostile takeover of the Capitol'_ bit?"

How does it _feel_? _Hmph_. With all opposition stifled, I am now _President of Panem._ I am a part of my own lucky and select few to shoulder the burden. I am elite, I am iconic. And as soon as I take that oath, all my dreams and aspirations become _solidified_.

"It feels _spectacular._ " I reply, to the looks of approval from everyone else.

Father raises his glass. "To the DeWynter family…if I could bottle our success, I would sell it! Oh, and special mention goes to my daughter _Viondra_. May her reign last as long as _humanly possible_."

"Our success is due mostly onto _you_ , Father." I reply. "If it weren't for your yearn of greater and better things, I wouldn't be here right now."

"I'll most definitely drink to that." Mother expresses warmly, as we clink our cups and drink away.

One by one, each member of my family enters the balcony overlooking the Avenue of Tributes. I'm the last. When the announcer states my name, Peacekeepers clad in their dress whites open the double doors, letting in intense applause from the onlookers below.

Agent Dallaire clears his throat from over my shoulder. "Ready, Your Excellency?"

I take a deep breath, blowing it through a space between my lips, and then replace that hole with a full-toothed _smile_.

 _"Ready as I'll ever be..."_ I breathe.

...

It's January 20th, 2163, a little past noon - the _centennial_ year of the Hunger Games.

Take a bow, Snow. For the DeWynter dynasty has made inroads.


	13. Acknowledgements - Thank You!

The final chapter is previous to this one.

Thank you, very small group of people who silently read this piece of fiction….What? Literally less than 10 people, give or take… Regardless, I genuinely appreciate your silent interest. Read on in silence, my brothers and sisters in Fanfiction.

I hope you liked Viondra DeWynter…I wonder where she leans politically. Heck, I wrote her, so I'd say she's a National Socialist…kinda like a Vladmir Putin type person with a 'big tent' approach. As long as she remains the head of said movement she's fine.

Writing this, and reading other fics such as " **Katniss and Coriolanus: Soulmates"** gave me a lot of opportunity to think about what I want out of this next SYOT. I think people will enjoy what I have planned. In 'Haus Der Toten' – House of the Dead – I had a decent thought process…but now that I'm older, the thoughts are much more 'prominent', I know exactly what my universe is supposed to be.

Well, onto more thank yous…

Thank you to Elim9 for Gideon Montresor. You'll see him again soon…I doubt you're reading this but hey! Thanks.

Epic thank you to SFC Bruce, T.j.98, TomHRichardson for inspiration towards my works. Tom more recently too.

Thank you, Twistedservice, Alice and others for following and reading at your leisure…I kinda already mentioned you up top.

Thank you, thank you, thank you once again to TitanicX! Give yourself a pat on the back for being my number one fan! Who knew I'd have someone who likes my stuff so much that I'd have a Fanfiction FOR my fanfiction. You've been great.

Erm…I've been doing well at my school. I'm upgrading to get into Uni. And I have an online course as well. By November I'll be done the SCHOOL portion, and then hopefully halfway done the research essay for my online course in the same month.

Hopefully by November-December, my new SYOT shall be out. This should be good, since one of my prologue segments has _(spoiler alert- not really)_ a Christmas party with the all the Victors which should be…interesting, given the events that take place around late December of 2162 (99th Hunger Games) in my universe.

Welp…I'll see you soon, in my _next SYOT._


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